


Until The Sun Rises

by FrozenSnares



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Smut, i'm so bad at tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-05 10:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 78,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5372681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenSnares/pseuds/FrozenSnares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“She is a princess,” Rickon tells her. “And I am little more than a wildling playing false at being king.”</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The War of the Five Kings has ended with much turmoil and confusion. House Baratheon has been exiled from the South under the rule of Daenerys Targaryen, and the former princess Shireen Baratheon finds herself betrothed to Rickon Stark. Everything she hears about him makes her averse to the notion of marriage, but she finds other reasons to stay north.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The War of the Five Kings ended so chaotically, nearly everyone changed their opinions and allegiances twelve times over by the end of it. All the confusion was doubled over with the immediate fight against the Others, and most lost their liege lords along with the causes they were fighting for. The few left with a claim to rally toward quickly swayed as many people to join their cause as possible, creating even larger divides between the contenders to sit the Iron Throne. There was really no need for anyone to throw further doubt into the proper inheritance of the seat. It was clear as the coming summer who would sit the throne.

Stannis Baratheon lacked popularity while alive, and it only plummeted in his death. His few loyal men swore (some to their last breaths) that they would follow his word and sit his daughter on the Iron Throne. However, allowing such open rebellion from such a small band of people could not be allowed, especially with a new queen. In all honesty, Shireen was lucky to be alive. Her life, along with her father’s bannermen, could have easily been lost to protect Daenerys Targaryen’s claim to the throne. Instead, she faced exile to the only kingdom no longer under the rule of the Iron Throne: The North.

The return of the lost prince Rickon Stark garnered the largest army in the fight against the Others. Though he was more wildling than lord, the entire North followed his dark direwolf and bloodied blade into battle, assuring a victory against the wights that sieged the Wall. After the war and her own exile, the Baratheon and Stark councils struck the match: it would benefit both parties. After all, Shireen was prohibited from ever laying claim to the Iron Throne, or even stepping foot in the South; and Rickon was raised by wildlings with no proper training on running a keep and ruling lands. Surely a better match could not have been made. And Shireen could not have been more unsatisfied with the outcome. 

Word of Rickon Stark’s reputation need not have spread to her as quickly as it did, particularly when she witnessed it her first night in Winterfell. Shireen was well-aware of her affliction and how unappealing her look was to other lords. In the North especially, people feared greyscale as the deadly, dangerous disease it was, and Shireen’s hope that her betrothed would look past it was entirely squashed. 

The entire night of celebration, Shireen sits at the high table. Not the queen’s seat, though. They’d have to be married before she was allowed that place of honor. Still, she holds herself as well as she can, knowing that she wears her finest gown and looks the part of royalty, regardless of what her situation has become.

When Rickon Stark finally leaves his seat after the dancing begins, Shireen half-hopes he will honor their betrothal and invite her to the floor. She is hugely mistaken. Instead of taking the floor, she soon finds him secluded in a corner with no less than four serving girls that he is very openly ogling and not bothering to be discreet about where his hands are. The flavor of bile rises in Shireen’s throat, watching him without a care for his oath to her. Wildling or not, she will never tolerate this behavior during their marriage. She can scarcely tolerate it now. Her full cup of wine looks immensely tempting, if not for the intoxication it can provide, then for its ability to be weaponized against Prince Rickon Stark.

In her anger, Shireen does not notice the serving girl offering her desserts until she loudly clears her throat. Shireen jolts around to look at her, thankful from the distraction from the view of her husband-to-be. A large platter of sweets sits before her, looking incredibly delicious. “Mila—Your gr— _Princess_ ,” the girl finally settles on. 

Shireen watches her frown in confusion. Obviously, even she knows that Shireen has been stripped of all titles. Her evening could not have been soured more. To stop the girl from speaking, Shireen quickly takes a dessert and shoves it in her mouth as delicately as possible.

Unfortunately, the girl stays there and looks wistfully over to where Rickon stands. “You’re a lucky one,” she sighs, “to be getting a husband so _talented_.”

The urge to strangle the girl rises up in Shireen’s stomach. If anyone thought that she lacked Baratheon fury, she’d prove them wrong this instant. The layers of implication in the serving girl’s voice infuriate her and make her poised to kill.

Apparently, Shireen doesn’t look angry enough because the girl goes on. “He may have spearwives, but you’d be his wife for true,” she says. “Anyone’s dream…”

Shireen stands abruptly, sending her chair to the floor. Half the hall turns to look to her, but she ignores them, thinking that a stroll on the still-freezing ground might cool her head. She walks quickly, rushing past the corner that contains Rickon and making way for the door. Someone snags at her wrist, and she pulls her hand out sharply, turning to the offending person.

Bright green eyes stare back at her, and as displeased as Shireen is to see him, it still strikes her to see how handsome he is. Naturally, he could have any woman he asked for, drawing them in with his height and muscle, the distraction of hair that looks brown until sun hits it. Shireen wipes the thoughts from her mind. She will not be swayed by his looks, and she will not be pushed aside so easily, particularly when he still has a hand on some lady of the North.

“Care to join us?” Rickon asks, a smirk on his mouth. The girl on his arm looks annoyed that he bothered to ask, and she presses her breasts into his chest, combing out her oddly green hair in a play at seduction.

Shireen glares at him. The ways of lords and ladies have been so thoroughly ingrained in her mind that she has no doubts about the girl’s intention. Should Rickon impregnate a woman, particularly a lady, her father could force his hand and possibly terminate her own betrothal. While Shireen has to admit a small amount of relief at the thought, annoyance builds in her chest. “Never,” she spits out. She lowers her voice, not wishing for people to eavesdrop. “Should I ever share a bed with my lord husband, it will be alone with none else to know.”

Turning on her heel, Shireen heads for the door. Distantly, a call of “how ’bout a king?” reaches her ears, but she ignores it. Infidelity is forever out of the question for any lady. Any discrepancies would have them raising bastards alone. At worst, they would be beheaded, and it disgusts her that lords can so blatantly play about their station for favors from women. Though Shireen only meant to wander the halls, she soon abandons the keep altogether.

With the war ended, Shireen hoped to see summer again. She prayed for heat to warm her skin and to finally be rid of the snows. Unfortunately, the North is rarely seen without a layer of frost over the ground. Even in the summer, Shireen has been told to expect to be in a cloak and boots at every moment. Apparently, her life would be devoid of all forms of warmth.

Crunching through the snow, Shireen locates a seat on a stone bench. The snow continues to fall, and Shireen considers how freezing to death would compare to a marriage with an unfaithful husband. Anger abating, the sting of tears hits her. The realization of her losses hit her. Over the past years, she has been carried around with her father’s army during the war, with no reprieve, she was called forth to aid in the war against the Others, she has spent the last few months traveling to Winterfell in order to live out her exile. Now an orphan, Shireen has lost all of her family, never to see them again. Belatedly, Shireen thinks that Rickon is in the same position. He has only just learned of the loss of his own family, his sisters bartered off for marriages or into self-imposed exile across the Narrow Sea, his remaining brother found to be not his brother at all. A part of her fills with hope that this is simply his way of coping, and that it will not last long.

Sighing, Shireen decides to wait out her time North. Should Rickon prove to be a horrible man, she can always flee, perhaps across the Narrow Sea herself to be rid of the politics of the Seven Kingdoms. For now, she will wait it out in the comfort she is given, hoping for a turn of events. 

A small crunching of snow alerts her to someone else’s presence. Though Shireen cannot see much in the night, she prepares for the worst, pulling out her hidden knife and brandishing it. “If you mean me harm, worse will come to you,” she calls out. “I am not in the mood.”

To her great surprise, a man has not followed her out of the hall to do her harm. Instead, Rickon’s black as night direwolf walks toward her, stopping a good distance away and making half-circles around her. Shireen looks to the direwolf curiously. Never had she expected to be so close to the massive beast, and after seeing the aftermath of his role in the war, she is not keen on the thought of being so close to him.

“You, as well,” she calls to the direwolf. Her voice is shriller than she’d like. “Off you go.”

At such a distance, Shireen cannot determine his intention, but the direwolf doesn’t leave. He sits in the snow, looking in her direction. Shireen fears that he means to prey on her, and she desperately wracks her brain for his name, thinking that she’s heard it before.

“Shaggydog,” she says firmly, mostly to herself. To her horror, the direwolf stands. “No, Shaggydog,” she corrects quickly, but he approaches her steadily.

Holding her breath, Shireen watches the direwolf come near. Fear mounts in her as she learns his true height. Though she sits and looks smaller for it, Shireen believes that if she were standing at her tallest the direwolf would still tower over her. Shaggydog nears to stand just before her legs, bowing his head and sniffing at her hair. Shireen can feel the heat of his breath over her face, and it sends a chill through her. He never growls, though, nor does he bare his teeth, and Shireen believes him to be gentle in spite of the number of times she’s witnessed his aggression. A large, wet tongue brushes over the side of her face, taking her by surprise. Then, the direwolf sits again, placing his head on her lap. Tentatively, Shireen lifts a hand and strokes her fingers through his fur.

“Oh, you’re much kinder than your owner,” she remarks, feeling the gentle rumble of his ribcage when she scratches between his ears. “Mayhaps I’ll stay north for you.”

Though the snow continues to fall, Shireen has the warmth of a direwolf against her and feels no chill throughout the night. She finally heads back to the keep when the noise dies down and most of the people are in their chambers. With Shaggydog at her side, she returns to her rooms, avoiding the hall and whatever deviancies it contains. Taking a roundabout route, Shireen enters her room, formerly the Lady Catelyn Stark’s chambers, as they are the warmest in all of Winterfell. She stops at the threshold, uncertain about inviting the direwolf in. She assumes that the heat is enough to put him off, and it does. Shaggydog sniffs at the ground, stepping in slowly until he balks, turning from the room and going into the hall. He lets out a low bark, as if asking her to join him, and Shireen gives him a soft smile.

“These are my rooms,” she tells him. He whines at her. Shireen giggles, watching the massive beast act like a puppy. “On the morrow, then. I’ll find you.”

The direwolf simply paces the hall, then, taking up most of the space available. As Shireen closes the door to her room, she sees him lying down in front of her door, effectively blocking anyone from pursuing entry. Shireen prepares for bed. She has much experience on her own, having lived all her life without handmaidens, and she unties her gown until it falls to the floor. Pulling back the sheets on her bed, Shireen makes to go to sleep in her smallclothes when a knock sounds at her door. Pulling a woolen robe over herself, Shireen goes to open the door the smallest amount.

Rickon Stark stands outside her chambers, his doublet half-opened and his breeches somewhat loosened. Shireen sours at his appearance, thinking that she will not be found in such a scandalous manner with him.

“Can I help you?” she asks sharply.

Immediately, she realizes it was the wrong question. Rickon smirks at her, leaning in and resting his forearm on the doorframe. Shireen glances down, hoping that Shaggydog still blocks his passage. The direwolf has vanished, and Shireen frowns. Rickon clears his throat. “I simply—”

“You simply knocked on a lady’s door long past nightfall,” Shireen points out. “Is this a common occurrence? You beg entrance into anyone’s chambers to have your way with its occupants? I will not be treated as a common whore, and you would do well to remember that.”

“Oh, princess,” Rickon says, false cordiality dripping over his voice. “I simply assumed any lady that infatuated Shaggydog was worth knowing. I mean you no disrespect.”

Fury boils deep in Shireen’s chest. “You disrespect me every time you seek the company of other women,” Shireen shoots out. “Let it be known that once we are wed, I will not tolerate such behavior.”

Rickon laughs then, absently untying his doublet further and taking it off entirely. This can only be one of his tactics to further his advances on women, and she will have no part in it. “Perhaps we shan’t be wed, then,” he says. “The gods know you’d prefer anyone’s company but mine.”

Shireen bristles. She does not wish to confirm his suspicions and she is too proud to admit that this marriage is her only hope at retribution. “I prefer the company of someone who would honor their betrothal and the effort of ladies to keep their maidenhead for their husbands,” Shireen tells him. She tightens her arms around herself, making sure that she is covered.

“You’d be surprised at how few women do,” he tells her, leaning in closer. Then, he pushes off the door, stepping back into the hall. “Though, if you manage to find a lord of such honor, I’ll break our betrothal myself, on my word as king, and you can wed him instead.”

With a laugh still playing on his face, Rickon leaves down the hall, heading to his own chambers. Absolutely annoyed, Shireen slams the door shut as hard as she can. Bolting the door in place, Shireen makes for her bed, thinking that it may be worth freezing to death after all.

 

 

It turns out that Rickon lacks the commitment to stay in Winterfell long, confirming Shireen’s suspicions that he is forever unfaithful. He leaves the keep for days or weeks at a time, abandoning his castellan to run the keep alone and manage the affairs. Shireen hears several complaints about his behavior, though always in passing whispers. A few women spread rumors that he left a wildling lover when he returned to Winterfell, and that he goes back to keep her company. More pressing than his own disappearance, Shireen wishes he hadn’t taken his direwolf with him. She longs to know Shaggydog better and see if she can strike a friendship with the direwolf if only to annoy the King in the North.

Because of his many absences, Shireen receives summons to hear grievances a few months into her stay at Winterfell. The castellan assures her that it is merely for appearances, seeing as she would be fit to serve after her marriage. Though Shireen has little faith that her marriage will come to fruition, she deigns herself to learn as much about the North as possible, thinking that it would do her well to know the people of the lands and see what information they provide. Proximity to the war overpowers this, though. Most people have come to share the losses of lords and families, trying to gain clarity on the law of inheritance where keeps and lands are of issue. The table quickly becomes laden with maps, and the castellan scratches at his head trying to settle matters with the council bickering.

After Shireen becomes fed up with the council, she strolls over to the northerners. She sees their difficulties, but fails to understand their problems. The Gift belongs to the wildlings under the word of Rickon, but the other holdings have clear distinctions. Without bothering to consult the council, Shireen walks over herself to the lords and settles matters. The first few lords scatter away from her, but after she resolves the conflicts of others, they return. She hears complaints all afternoon with only a scrap of paper filled with the results of the issues. A few times, she sends for the lords to bring back all the involved parties, unwilling to make a decision without hearing all the information. Many times, she simply hears of losses, offering the support of the Starks in their time of need.

Shireen tires some, having heard out as many people as possible in her time, and assuring everyone that Rickon will be informed of the decisions made. When the day ends, Shireen hands the information off the council to deal with, knowing that they should have tended to the matters themselves. A few of them look annoyed at her, obviously thinking that it was not her place to intervene. Refusing to be told off by the lords, Shireen leaves them, returning to her rooms.

To her great pleasure, Shaggydog has returned. He waits just outside her door, wagging his tail happily as she nears. He greets her with great enthusiasm, nearly knocking her over. Shireen calms him by sitting in the hall, letting him lie on her lap as she runs her hands through his fur.

“You’re not mad at me, right?” she asks. She scratches his ears, and the direwolf presses into her stomach, pinning her to the wall. Laughing, Shireen leans over the direwolf, giving him a few last pets before trying to get back in her room. Over her pillow, Shireen sees a small bouquet of winter roses. They are a gorgeous blue, and Shireen feels that they may be the last to bloom this winter. Desperate to keep them alive for as long as possible, she quickly fetches a jug and water, placing the roses in it. Shireen places them on the small table near her bed, arranging them to keep the petals from damaging one another.

A low whine draws her back, and Shireen sees Shaggydog at the threshold, begging her to return. Thinking that it would be foolish to ignore the calls of a direwolf, Shireen leaves her rooms, following the direwolf out to the grounds. She thinks it is truly something out of a dream to be led by a direwolf through the snow. The beauty that she refused to acknowledge becomes clear now, seeing the fresh-fallen snow over the previously beaten down paths. The North holds more wonder than Shireen will admit, and she feels a spark of joy knowing that her childhood self would be jealous to see her living in such a dream.

Shireen is knocked back to reality when she sees the subject of the end of her story. She isn’t sure which part of her decided that Shaggydog came back alone, but she is slightly annoyed to find that Rickon returned as well. He is out in the yard, training with a few men as the light grows dim. Most of her annoyance builds from thinking he planned his arrival to make her tend to his duties this afternoon, and annoyance fills her at his gall.

The sight of him captivates her, as much as she won’t admit it. He certainly knows his way around the blade, though he doesn’t follow the conventional rules that his bannermen do. They each yield quickly, not knowing how to defend his attacks. Though he looks serious while he practices, he laughs just as easily, and Shireen watches the stretch of him as he strips off his armor. The last rays of sun shine bright off his hair, making it glow a soft red and making him look more Tully than Stark. Shireen hides a smile, thinking that this laughing king is scarcely a man grown, and he certainly deserves to enjoy what youth he has left after being forced from his home and into a war after losing his family. 

Leaving the courtyard as to keep her head from the distraction of him, Shireen gives Shaggydog a final pet before he runs off after Rickon. Slowly, Shireen returns to the keep, thinking that dinner would do her well before turning in. Unfortunately, the lords are as keen on jesting about her now as they were earlier, and Shireen finds no comfort in her meal. She prepares to tell them off before taking her leave, but a loud snarl in their direction quiets them. Turning, Shireen finds Shaggydog at her shoulder, and she gives the direwolf a small smile. Behind the direwolf, Rickon steps out, sitting gracelessly in the chair beside her. The few men of the council stand hastily at Rickon’s presence, and Rickon leaves them standing, not bothering to give them leave to sit. They look on, between Shireen and Rickon until Shaggydog takes a seat behind Shireen, proving to be a hulking sentry for her.

Rickon chuckles. “Serves them well,” he says. Rickon takes a deep drink from his goblet, clanking it back on the table and wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand. A few lords take seats, shooting looks to their liege lord. Ignoring them all, Rickon turns to Shireen, and she feels embarrassed to be the sole recipient of his attention. “I owe you my thanks,” he tells her. “I didn’t realize that my council was too stupid to manage alone. The North owes you, princess. You’ve done us a great service.”

Shireen bows her head, accepting the thanks. She briefly recalls the winter roses on her bed and wonders if he left them there. Perhaps they are his apology or a sort of peace offering, considering they must tolerate each other during her stay, however long that may be. Looking about the hall, Shireen sees that there are several women staring at him, obviously annoyed at his choice of seat. He could have easily chosen any of them for company, yet he sits at her side and offers his thanks.

“Shaggydog likes you,” Rickon says, turning back to her with a heel of bread in his hand. He rips off a piece and holds it out to her. Shireen takes it slowly, picking off a piece to chew through. Rickon smiles at her, and it looks so easy for him. Surely his charms work just as well on other women, women with far less to lose and much more to gain. His bright green eyes have yet to leave her face, and Shireen wonders if he stares at her greyscale or why he shows no disgust at it. “Perhaps you could train him,” Rickon suggests. “I couldn’t manage it myself.”

Shireen tries to offer him a smile. She decides that there is nothing wrong with having a conversation with her husband-to-be, particularly when he’s giving her attention of his own accord. Picking at her bread, she continues on with the topic. “How old were you when you got him?” she asks, mostly curious about how a boy gets a direwolf for a pet in the first place.

The smile fades from Rickon’s face, and he looks down at his food. “I was four,” he mumbles out. “It was right before everyone left.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean—” Shireen frantically searches for a clean end to this conversation. Surely, she should have remembered the fate of the Starks at the beginning of the war. It proves to be a touchy subject for the young king, and Shireen doesn’t wish to remind him of his loss.

Rickon waves a hand through the air, brushing the conversation away. “It is of little matter,” he says, taking another deep drink. He half-stands, pushing his chair back. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Without any means to call him back, Shireen lets him go, watching as he calls to Shaggydog and leaves the hall. A small part of her is thankful that he didn’t seek the company of another woman, although she wonders what his goal is given how dark it is outside. Finishing her meal, Shireen tolerates the glares and stares of the other women in the hall. She is certainly their topic of conversation, having amused their king for a short while before scaring him off entirely. Hastily, she clears her plate, thinking that her solitude is preferable to the stares in the hall.

For the next two weeks, Shireen takes meals in her rooms, thinking that it would be better than watching Rickon wander off to other women or being subject to their stares and taunts. She tends to the winter roses instead, keeping them alive even though winter slowly leaves the realm. It doesn’t take long for talk of Rickon’s absence to reach her ears. However, Shaggydog remains at her side, and she asks a serving girl about it one day.

“As if you don’t know,” the girl says, giggling. “He’s been taking meals in his room and refusing visitors. Some say he isn’t in his rooms at all most nights.”

Shireen lacks the ability to confirm rumors, especially since she knows nothing of Rickon’s whereabouts. Instead, she contents herself with the company of his direwolf. While Shaggydog has no patience for learning tricks, he enjoys wandering the grounds and the keep, following trails and begging for attention from Shireen. 

Thrilled at having won his affection, Shireen showers him with her attention at every possible moment. Though she occasionally attends council meetings, she always makes sure that Rickon isn’t present during them, knowing that his council has been pushing for him to marry, even if he chooses a different bride. Shaggydog remains faithful to her, though, and Shireen begins sneaking of parts of her meal for him. Often, she will select bloody cuts of meat if only to hide them under the table for Shaggydog to eat. Rickon catches her one time, and Shireen pretends to have dropped the meat. This earns her a bout of laughter from Rickon, and a grin stays on his face for the remainder of the meal.

When he leaves, he stops behind her chair, leaning down and putting his lips near her ear. “He can hunt, you know,” Rickon whispers. “He might be keener on it if certain princesses stop doting on him so.”

Shireen flushes slightly, and Rickon leaves the hall laughing. Though she meant to correct him, she doesn’t think Rickon is like to change the few courtesies that he has. Already, she can feel herself slowly falling victim to his charms, and she resolves to keep her honor where he is involved. However, she will not prevent herself from the joy she feels at having his attention, particularly after she has gone so long without so much as a second glance.


	2. Chapter 2

All in all, Shireen expected life in Winterfell to be a lot worse. As it is, Shireen need not pay any attention to her betrothed except at meals and the few council meetings she chooses to attend. The Northern council shows her no favor, preferring to speak as if she were not in the room, much less in the North. While Shireen is used to being ignored, she refuses to accept it now, particularly since this was to be her haven from the South. When she isn’t at council meetings, she spends her time with Shaggydog, finding that the direwolf is the best company she has ever had.

Though most believe direwolves to be vicious, cruel creatures, Shireen has found Shaggydog to be the most intelligent animal she has ever met. He is oddly attentive when she talks, often making sounds during her lulls as if responding to what she says. Though she spends as much time with Shaggydog as possible, he still vanishes for weeks at a time when Rickon leaves. During these times, Shireen finds herself hoping for the King in the North to return, if only so she can have the company of his direwolf.

When Shireen has been in Winterfell for nearly a year, she becomes accustomed to Rickon’s habits of leaving without warning. Almost without fail, she can predict his return, waiting for Shaggydog just out of view of Rickon. The direwolf always greets her happily, running around her legs and leading her into the godswood. There, Shireen sits with the direwolf beneath the Heart Tree, wishing she could hear the stories of his journey and whatever it is he does while Rickon meets with the wildlings.

“Does he leave you to wander the woods on your own?” Shireen asks the direwolf, knowing she won’t understand his response. Absently, she scratches at his ears, and Shaggydog rolls onto his back, pinning her down in the snow. Shireen smiles at the direwolf. “I bet he doesn’t pet you, either,” she mumbles. “And _that’s_ the reason you like me so much.”

Shaggydog barks lightly, flipping over quickly to press his snout into her belly. Giggling, Shireen goes down into the snow. Though it is cold under the fresh-fallen powder, Shaggydog keeps her warm. This continues until the sun starts to set, and Shaggydog sits up suddenly. Shireen follows him, looking around for the source of his fascination. Without warning, Shaggydog stands and bolts through the godswood. 

Standing slowly, Shireen follows after him, weaving through the trees toward the entrance. Just before she sees what Shaggydog has been drawn toward, she takes pause and hides behind a tree. To no surprise, she finds Rickon at his side, stroking his fur a few times before continuing on.

“Osha will join us today,” Rickon tells the direwolf. He gives Shaggydog a small smile, walking slower than before. He looks up to the sky. “She misses Winterfell, and my lords won’t have her back. Should I demand it of them?”

Shireen moves forward slowly, keeping Rickon in her sights. She isn’t sure who he speaks of, only that it is a woman, and she fears that he never meant to keep their betrothal at all. He simply waits for his woman to be allowed back in Winterfell. Shireen almost leaves at that, ready to leave Rickon and the entire North for her own well-being, but she stops when she hears her name.

“The princess Shireen doesn’t like the North,” Rickon says, moving around the pool in front of the Heart Tree. “She only likes you. Have you really more charms than me?”

Shireen steps forward, careful to make no noise in the snow. She steps around a few more trees, stopping only just when she is in earshot. She waits around the tree, straining her ears for more.

“Osha thinks I should charm her,” Rickon says, looking into the face of the Heart Tree. He spares Shaggydog a look before sitting down. “I think she means for me to marry her. I don’t think Osha remembers who I promised Winterfell to. She’s here, though.”

For a moment, Rickon looks directly to the tree where Shireen is hidden, and she cowers back, wondering if she’s been caught. However, a rustling catches her attention, and Shireen knows that Rickon seeks another. She waits for their noise to get louder, hoping that it’ll be enough to cover for her as she flees to the keep. 

Despite her many ill omens in the North, Shireen has no safety elsewhere. She knows that this is her ultimate curse. Her greyscale marks her as an outsider, as someone who cannot be trusted. She is marked to die and to infect as many as she can before it will happen. Even though she survives and is healthy, none will believe her cured. The northmen have only proven that they believe her contagious, and even across the Narrow Sea, she will meet no hospitality. No foreigner has ever showed her a kindness, and she refuses to banish herself to a place where she will be exiled further. She is not one of the stone men. She is alive, and she is cured. Now, she fears that her only hope for survival is finding a lord that will take her despite her flaws.

 

 

Words cannot begin to describe Shireen’s fury at the many lords of the North. While she forces herself to give them the benefit of the doubt, she easily finds that she would sooner take up arms against them than help their cause in any form. Running a keep for them would only provide them a service that they would not be thankful for. Shireen finds herself annoyed beyond belief at the audacity that these men have at taking women to bed and drinking until they are senseless, even Rickon’s behaviors seem tame in comparison.

“Not to your liking, princess?” Rickon asks, taking a seat beside her in the courtyard. With him comes Shaggydog, and Shireen welcomes the weight of his head on her lap. She brushes over his ears, trying to ignore Rickon. He seems to notice her discomfort, shying away just slightly. “I wish for you to join the next council meeting, princess,” he says softly. “My men continue to have difficulties, even when I sit with them. They alone cannot come to terms on anything. I believe you can assist me.”

Shireen sighs, turning slightly to look at him. Rickon isn’t looking at her, nor does he turn for her. He sits still, leaning onto his knees. Shireen thinks that she has never seen him so restful, that he appears calmer than before. Slowly, he turns to face her, all of his bravado lost. He no longer looks like the cocky lord that she knows him to be, and he actually appears to be genuine about asking for her help. With little resistance, she turns back to Shaggydog. While petting the direwolf gently, she tells him what she knows.

“Your men have other concerns with hearing complaints,” she explains. “They refuse to attribute lands and titles in accordance to common law because they have other favors to pay back. They give weight to the wrong men because of their bias. Unless I am mistaken, they are intentionally causing difficulties to get what they want.”

Rickon sighs, leaning back against the wall of the keep. Shaking his head, he looks over to Shaggydog. “I understand that you have no wish for our marriage,” he says evenly. “I will not hold you to it, if you choose it. However, Winterfell will be at a tremendous loss without you. If you will not stay as my wife, stay as my Hand. Your council will be vital to our survival.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Shireen says. She bites back her smile, realizing that this may be the best possible outcome for her. All concerns regarding her safety would be put to rest if she stays in Winterfell, particularly in a position of power. If it is not as Rickon Stark’s wife, then she would be better off staying under his protection. She thinks that he’ll leave soon, but Rickon simply stands, staying in one place.

“You’ve managed to tame my direwolf,” he says gently. “Not an easy task, even for myself. I daresay he prefers your company to mine now.”

“Not so,” Shireen says, thinking it easy to contradict a king if she is to be Hand. Rickon gives her a quizzical look that she ignores. Instead, she explains. “If he preferred my company, then he wouldn’t leave at a moment’s notice when you venture off.”

Rickon smirks, moving around Shaggydog to sit in the snow with him. He lifts a hand out to the direwolf, but Shaggydog only spares him a sniff before returning to Shireen’s lap. “He may come, but it doesn’t mean he wants to,” Rickon says. Slowly, he returns to his feet, dusting off his breeches. “For your safety, I will wait to announce you formally. It would be better that my men believe us to be betrothed for your own survival.”

“You don’t trust them not to kill your Hand?” Shireen asks.

Rickon gives her a hard look. “Jon Arryn’s death is the reason I have no family,” he says. His tone is clipped. “I don’t trust anyone.”

He walks off, then, and Shireen is again forced to understand that no one has been unaffected by the War of the Five Kings. Everyone has a personal burden to bear, their own struggle to come to terms with, and a bias in favor of what they believe to be true. Now, it seems almost foolish for Shireen to continue protecting common law when men have lost so much more. Still, it is what Rickon has asked of her, and she is willing to uphold his law if it gives her peace.

Shireen finds herself in a much more difficult position come the council meetings. None of his bannermen see it fit to agree with his word, and he becomes infuriated at their inability to cooperate. Rickon appears to be keeping a cool demeanor, though Shireen can see the obvious signs of tension in his limbs.

“She is unsuited for the task.”

“She’ll betray us to the South.”

“You’d let a woman lecture us before you listen to us?”

“How could you leave the North so exposed under her rule?”

Shireen expected all of this and more. While Rickon never seemed power-hungry to her, he definitely has problems with his power being questioned.

“Sharing your bed already to win your favor? Just marry the wench.”

Rickon stands up abruptly, and his chair clatters to the floor behind him. The tightness in his jaw seems obvious to Shireen, but none of the lords at looking at his face. It takes Shireen a moment longer to realize that he has a dagger in his hand. “My word stands,” Rickon says sharply. “Shireen Baratheon is under _my_ protection. If you question her word, you question mine. Wedding her makes us no safer, and safety is our biggest priority. Only when the North is safe will we look to trivial matters like marriages. Until then, we see to our people. Is that clear?”

A small murmur of assent passes around the table, but Rickon bristles. He throws the dagger down, impaling it into the wood of the table and letting it land dangerously close to one of his lords’ hands. A hush falls over the table.

“Am I clear?” Rickon repeats. The resounding call of assent is far louder this time. Rickon still doesn’t look satisfied, though he sits back down. Deliberately, he turns to her. “Princess, the Gift belongs to the wildlings, as we have negotiated along with the command of the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. All other holdings are with their liege lords as dictated by my father.”

“Of course,” Shireen replies, moving closer to the table. “What is the current point of contention?”

“The Dreadfort,” Rickon says evenly. “House Bolton has been eradicated, and I wish for the keep to be burned to the ground.”

“And the subjects under the Dreadfort?” Shireen asks, flicking through the papers in front of her. “With Winter ending, it would not do well for the keep to be under construction. Even if they are subjects of Winterfell, they will need a lord through the rest of Winter.”

Smiling at her, Rickon winks at her before turning to the remainder of the council. Shireen feels the heat rush to her face, and she watches the changes in command for the rest of the meeting. Almost without issue, she makes demands and requests that Rickon agrees to without question. His lords all abide by his word, staying silent on anything they have issue with. Shireen sees their dissent, and she knows that Rickon cannot act on power for long. Though he is safe by his name as a Stark, his lords would sooner turn him into a figurehead for their wishes.

When the council meeting draws to a close, Shireen places a hand on his arm, drawing his attention before he rushes off. Rickon freezes at her touch, staying in the room until after his council has departed. Without saying anything, Shireen starts to her rooms, hoping Rickon will follow her. When she gets to her door, she finds that not only has Rickon come but Shaggydog also walks with them.

“A word, if you will,” she says, opening the door.

Rickon steps through slowly, keeping his eyes on her all the while. “I never thought I’d see the day when you invited me into your chambers,” he says, glancing around. He walks over to her bed and takes a seat on the edge. “Has the lack of a betrothal suddenly made me appealing?”

“I’ve not asked you here for a bedding,” Shireen says, rolling her eyes. She moves over to the window, pulling it closed for the night. “Your lords mean to use you.”

Shireen takes her time explaining the situation, and she makes sure to give Rickon every possible situation that his lords have in mind. Rickon listens, no longer making japes about bedding her. He sits silently the entire time, rarely looking elsewhere but at her. When she finishes, he gives her a hard stare.

“And you’re certain of this?” he asks.

Nodding her head, Shireen finally takes a seat near him. There is no other explanation for the way his bannermen were acting.

“Have you determined any solutions?”

“A few,” Shireen says slowly, “though I fear you will not follow my word.”

Rickon smirks, standing slowly. “You think little of me, princess,” he says. “I value your knowledge.”

“Yet you call me princess,” Shireen says before she can stop herself. “Why do you belittle your position for mine?”

Pausing by the door, Rickon turns to her slowly. “I never wanted the title; No Stark did,” he says. “But your father fought for your claim, not his own. He was a king so you could be queen.”

“No,” Shireen says sharply. “He wanted—”

“No man fights for his own claim,” Rickon tells her. “They fight for their heirs. Your father _was_ king, and you’d do well to remember it before everyone else erases it from memory.”

With that, Rickon leaves the room, whistling lightly for Shaggydog to follow after him. Shireen thinks it odd that he would offer such advice to her. She finds it even odder that it makes so such sense, and the thought refuses to leave her until late into the night. When she finally makes it to bed, she realizes that she may have cast her judgement far too soon on Rickon Stark.


	3. Chapter 3

“You’ve not left Winterfell in months,” Shireen remarks, walking through the keep.

Rickon bristles at her side, and she sees the tension building in him. Ahead of them, Shaggydog clears the passageways, scaring off the household with his size. For nearly two years, Shireen has been in Winterfell, and it seems as if the direwolf will never stop growing. He is roughly the size of a small horse. Shireen thinks it lucky that the northerners built Winterfell while the Starks still kept them. Slowly, Shireen turns to Rickon, unsure if she’ll get an explanation. They are nearly to the library when Rickon speaks.

“Nine moons,” he confirms. He kicks at the floor, looking peeved at the information. “My men are still just beyond my grasp, acting without my orders. I’ve only just managed to keep them in line.”

Shireen nods, pulling open the door and gesturing for Rickon to enter. He does, shoving his hands in his pockets. He quickly walks to the stacks, and his maester walks out of them quickly.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” the maester says. “I didn’t realize you were coming.”

Rickon offers no further details, and Shireen senses something off. The maester hurries off quickly, clutching at the few books he carries. Rickon has since taken a seat by the fire, his feet up on the table. Just before he exits, the maester looks between Shireen and Rickon several times, shutting the door behind him. Crossing her arms, Shireen rounds on Rickon, narrowing her eyes about that.

“What was that?” she asks.

Rickon shrugs. He leans back further in his seat, swinging his arms about loosely. “The old man is crazy,” he offers.

Shireen isn’t having it. She walks over slowly, stopping a few paces away. “And how many women have you bedded in the library?”

“I think the term is _fucked_ when there’s no bed,” Rickon says. A smirk is playing at the edge of his mouth, but Shireen has no amusement for his vulgarity. Her glare deepens, and Rickon relents, scoffing. “None.”

“None?”

“Why so interested, princess?” he asks back. Rickon sits up straighter, leveling a look at her. “You ask at every opportunity. Surely, you don’t care for the details.”

Maintaining her composure, Shireen bites her tongue. She cannot tell him that she still considers them betrothed, especially not when he thinks her his Hand. Advice and guidance is what he comes to her for, and she would do well to remember that when she isn’t consumed with thoughts of his personal life. She pulls out a different reason instead.

“Mere curiosity,” she says. “So many lords brag of their achievements, and you seemed to enjoy joining them.”

“Many lords _lie_ of their achievements,” Rickon corrects, rolling his eyes. “I’ve known enough women to find the truth.”

Shireen’s jaw drops open and just before the accusation comes, Rickon cuts her off.

“You need not bed women to get them to talk,” he says. “They do it easily enough when the opportunity presents itself.”

Pursing her lips, Shireen drops the topic, trying to remember why she brought him to the library in the first place. She browses the stacks briefly, getting her head back on and wondering why she has developed such a fascination with this young lord. Rickon pays her no mind, letting her wander as she sees fit. Instead, she turns her focus back to the task at hand, pulling out books for reference and bringing them over to Rickon. He listens intently, often taking the books from her to read passages himself. It takes Shireen a long time to realize that she didn’t think he could read.

“Who taught you?” she asks. Rickon gives her a confused look, and she clarifies. “To read.”

Rickon nods, skimming over the book before snapping it shut. “Jon, mostly,” he says. “When I stayed at the Wall. I didn’t let anyone else close enough. After a while, his maester took over the task. I learned alongside his woman.”

“Of course,” Shireen murmurs. She remembers her time at the Wall, hidden away from the war and the men thought to do her harm. Oftentimes, she sought the company of Samwell Tarly, knowing that he was kinder than most, but Shireen cannot recall seeing Rickon there as well. Dwelling too much on it brings up other memories from her past, and Shireen too soon remembers the war: the Red Woman, her parents, Ser Davos… She shuts her eyes tight, trying to block the image, but it only draws them into sharper focus. Other people start coming back with them, people she knows to be dead. When she sees her cousin Edric again and Devan Seaworth, she curls in on herself, hoping that everything will pass without tears. It would not serve her well to look weak in front of Rickon Stark. She is stronger than this. 

He easily takes notice, though, and he reaches for her hand gently. Shireen pulls away sharply, moving further back in her seat. Blinking up at Rickon, she feels the tears stinging her eyes. Never has she given herself leave to cry for her losses, to mourn for her family. The brunt of everything builds in her chest, and she takes in a shaking breath. Rickon gives her a tight smile, standing slowly.

“I—forgive me, my lord,” she murmurs, wiping at her eyes.

Shaking his head gently, Rickon places a hand on her shoulder. She hears him take in a deep breath, and it somehow triggers her to start sobbing in full. She feels broken, shattered by her loss, and irreparably damaged. Never will her life be as she thought, nor will she have the few comforts she once did. She is entirely alone here, and the future seems to be mocking her. She fails to compose herself, instead choosing to wallow in her misery and loss. Suddenly, she feels the need for comfort and she stops herself from clutching at Rickon, close as he is.

“I understand,” he mutters, giving her shoulder a light squeeze.

Shireen nearly lunges at him, but he leaves quickly. The loss of him hurts more somehow, and the sobs wrack through her body. Soon enough, Shaggydog is at her side, curling up beside her on the seat. Shireen looks up slowly, moving closer to him and seeking his warmth. At the door, Rickon watches her and she realizes that he sent his direwolf to her side. She mouths a silent _thank you_ to him, trying to make out the image of him through her tears. Her vision is blurred, though, and it isn’t until much later that she realizes she should have seen the loss in him, too.

Though Shireen never planned on it, she soon finds herself in the company of Rickon Stark more often than not. He is good company, if only because no one thinks it odd that they spend time together. While his bannermen have an obvious desire for Rickon to choose the company of other women, they have no sway on the whims of their liege lord. If she didn’t know any better, Shireen would think that Rickon almost prefers her company as well. He never resists her requests for his attention, though it often seems like this is due to requests for her assistance in running the keep.

They soon reach an understanding where they are patient with each other, no one over-stepping the boundaries of their conversation and speaking civilly to one another. It becomes routine for them to eat in the other’s company, or ask for a favor, and Shireen wonders how it came to be so easy when she was dreading her time north. 

When the familiarity they share begins to become close to a friendship, Shireen doesn’t even realize that it has happened. She only knows that he is her liege lord, and as often as he spends time commanding his men, he always returns to her for advice.

“We’re having company at Winterfell,” Rickon says dully one day. They are eating dinner together in the hall, and Shireen picks slowly at her food while watching him.

“Who comes?” Shireen asks.

Rickon groans. “Nearly every eligible lady in the North,” he says, sounding peeved. “One of my bannermen thought it wise to send for them. They think I require a marriage.”

Shireen gives him a look. “Don’t they think we’re betrothed?”

“I don’t think they care,” Rickon tells her. “Though, if you’re to take a lord husband, should I not also take a wife? How _has_ your search for a husband gone?”

“Perhaps not in present company,” Shireen says, looking around the room. Even with her poor luck, she does not wish to spread ill rumors with subjects of them so close. Despite the marriages of most of the northern lords, she has heard far too much about them as well. When she finishes up her meal, she stands and Shaggydog goes to her side quickly. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Though she means to take Shaggydog on a stroll about the grounds, she has no doubt that Rickon will follow soon after. It takes a bit longer than she expected, but he eventually finds her on the battlements.

“Apologies, princess,” Rickon says, walking up to her.

“I suppose your subjects wait for my departure before they pounce,” Shireen guesses. “Or were there not several women vying for your hand in marriage?”

“As always,” he mumbles, looking out over the grounds. “I think they assume I’ll bed anyone who shows up without a properly done-up gown.”

Shireen laughs, walking over to his side. “How many of them do you turn away?” she asks. “Or are they right?”

Rickon feigns thought, and she wonders what he thinks of. “Well, I’ve not bedded any of them,” he tells her slowly. “I just keep them long enough to get what I want.”

“Your own pleasure?” she asks, scoffing and turning away. Perhaps he is a lord like the other, ruled by the whims of his own cause.

“Information,” Rickon corrects. “Serving maids tend to know the most about the keep, and they’ll talk much easier than my lords will. For instance, I know that none of the lords currently in Winterfell fit your needs for a husband.”

Shireen shakes her head, pacing the area. “A detail I could have told you myself,” she says. “I’ve scarce been alone with any of them before figuring it out. They bed women as personal victories, not for marriages or love.”

Rickon laughs, throwing his head back. He leans over the battlements and shakes the snow from his hair. “Would you bed someone for love?” he asks.

“I am a lady, my lord,” Shireen says sharply. “There can be no question to my status should I be married.”

“And if it wasn’t a cause?” Rickon asks. “What if you were never to be married?”

“I will uphold propriety,” Shireen shoots back. “Just because others won’t doesn’t mean that I will disgrace my house.”

For a moment longer than necessary, the two stare at each other. Their looks soften and harden slowly, as they try to size the other up. Shireen is unsure of his intentions, of what he could possibly be planning, and she braces herself for whatever it is that comes next.

“So you uphold propriety,” Rickon starts slowly, taking steady steps toward her. Shireen nods once, but Rickon doesn’t stop his advance. “Never bedded a man? Or kissed one? Or danced? Embraced? Held hands?” I suppose you were a perfect maid all your life.”

“Regardless of how you mock me, you forget that no man wants it of me,” Shireen shots back. She looks down, hoping for strength from the truth she faced her entire life. “The few courtesies I am given are for my station, and only in the company of others. None would choose me for a whore, much less a wife.”

“Mayhaps you look in the wrong places,” he suggests. She can hear the smile in his voice.

When she glances up, she finds that Rickon is closer than she thought. He has come close enough for her to make out his bright green eyes, and she can see the faint traces of his beard growing in. A draw in her stomach makes her want to reach out for him, but she controls herself, taking a step back instead. Unfortunately, she meets Shaggydog’s massive form at her back. Reaching out a hand, Shireen means to push him away, to make her escape, but it seems that she will not get her wish.

Rickon reaches out for her hand, but Shaggydog growls loudly, stopping him. His hand falls, but he leans into her, far too close for comfort. “If not another lord, our betrothal should stand,” he says simply. “It will serve to keep men from your bed.”

“I believe I can manage just fine,” Shireen says back, drawing all the strength she has into her words.

Fortunately, it is enough to make Rickon back down. “Very well, then,” he says. “I’ll leave you to manage yourself, princess.”

Though he walks away, Shireen doubts his intentions. Quickly, she returns to her room, bolting the door shut before preparing for bed. She is certain that no man in Winterfell wants her company, but she is unnerved. Shireen does not know Rickon’s meaning, or what he implied on the battlements, and she wonders what he wants from her.

Unfortunately, she gets his company again when she least expects it. Just as Shireen finishes a bath, Rickon walks into her room, and she curses herself for not checking her lock. Quickly, Shireen hides in the water that has thankfully become opaque with soap. Still, she crosses her arms over her chest, not wishing to breach their rocky relationship.

“Can I help you, my lord?” she asks sharply.

Rickon spares her the briefest of glances before looking away. He walks back to the door, and she thinks he means to leave, but he locks it instead. “Forgive me, princess,” he mutters, averting his eyes. “I needed to speak to you alone, where no one would think to find me.”

“And my bath was your decision?” Shireen asks back.

“You have no handmaidens,” Rickon says evenly. “You always request to take your baths alone. No one helps you dress… and everyone believes you despise my company. No one will search for me here.”

Shireen sighs. She takes the time to make sure she is fully covered, brushing her hair in front of her shoulders. Then, she leans onto the side of the tub, annoyed that her bathwater now becomes cold. “And what did you need to speak to me about?” she prompts.

Rickon lulls about, pacing the room slowly without looking back to her. “Some of my council mean to have you killed,” he says simply. “They’ve been discussing tactics to remove you from Winterfell to ensure my marriage to another.”

“Excuse me?” Shireen questions, sitting up slightly. The water moves around her, but she pays it no mind, leaning closer to Rickon. “Who is behind this?”

Shaking his head, Rickon stops in a corner of the room, keeping his eyes downcast. “I don’t know yet,” he tells her. “But you need to take caution. Have no meals delivered privately, take care with what you touch, keep yourself safe.”

Slowly, Shireen shakes her head, thinking through it. “That’ll never work,” she says. “If they want to kill me, they can.”

“I won’t let them,” Rickon shoots back. He finally turns to her, walking closer, though she is in a tub. “I gave you my word that you would have my protection, and I will keep you safe. As a wife, Hand, betrothed… it doesn’t matter.”

Though Shireen is annoyed at his approach, she doesn’t tell him off. Instead, she points out the obvious flaw. “And how do you plan to keep me safe?” she asks. “Are you going to provide me a taster for all my meals and drinks? Have someone open doors for me? It’s unreasonable.”

Rickon’s eyes dart around, obviously trying to determine his own way through this. Surely, he sees the flaws as clearly as she does. He looks distraught, and Shireen can see that his hold over the North is weaker than he’d like. Even with his name, the North has been without a Stark for far too long.

“I will,” he breathes out. “I’ll do it—and Shaggydog. We can share meals, or have him… I’ll teach him poisons…”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Shireen says, slumping into her bath. The rush of cold water hits her skin and she squeals lightly, suddenly feeling the cold of the night seeping in. 

“Apologies, princess,” Rickon rushes out, seeing her discomfort. He moves through her rooms quickly, grabbing a sheet for her and walking it over. He holds it out to her, but doesn’t realize his mistake until she raises an eyebrow at him. Cheeks flushed red, Rickon turns away, clasping a hand over his eyes.

Tentatively, Shireen takes the sheet, and Rickon turns fully away. His eyes remain downcast and both of his hands go to his face. As quick as she can, Shireen leaves the bath, covering herself in the sheet and locating a robe. She tucks herself in, considering a cloak to keep away the chill as well.

“What would you do?” Shireen asks, settling into a chair.

“I’ll deliver your meals personally,” he says. He still doesn’t turn to her, instead walking away from where she sits. “The North cannot lose you. _I_ cannot lose you. You are the only hope Winterfell has at surviving.”

“I think you put too much stake on me,” she tells him. Her voice is low in the growing darkness of the room. “I am only a woman. I was never meant to run a kingdom. My husband was.”

“You could do all that and more, princess,” Rickon says, finally turning to her with a smile. He makes for the door, unbolting it and placing a hand on it. He pauses for a moment longer, and Shireen thinks he might say something more. However, he simply shakes his head and leaves for the night.

Doubts run high in Shireen’s mind regarding Rickon’s ability to watch over her. He is certainly gaining favor with his lords, though. Shireen can see how much easier they respond to him, obeying his order almost without fail. There is no way for them to know that she gives the command, but Shireen still takes pride in their response to it. She somehow manages to spend both more and less time with Rickon, as he now visits her rooms at every meal to give her food, but she hasn’t attended a council meeting in weeks. He no longer accompanies her through the grounds, though Shireen finds his company on occasion in the godswood.

Everything about the arrangement works, though Shireen finds that she misses his company. Shaggydog is still by her side at every moment Rickon is in Winterfell, and he only leaves for short hunting trips. At those times, Shireen locks herself in her room or the library, finding solace until his return. Shaggydog greets her happily, and she feels Rickon’s gaze though she refuses to acknowledge it. With the routine so ingrained, Shireen is surprised to find a deviance from it some months after the arrangement. Late one night, Shaggydog seeks her company, scratching on her door.

Shireen hears the sound through her light sleep, waking immediately. She recognizes the sound of nails, but takes her time in bundling up. Shaggydog has yet to enter her chambers, and she has no doubt that he will not do so tonight. When she is dressed in a loose gown, boots, and her thickest cloak, she opens the door. Shaggydog whines at her, nosing at her feet and taking a few steps down the hall. He stops to look at her, and Shireen slowly follows.

All her hopes of staying in the keep vanish when he leads her straight to an exit, and Shireen wonders why he has sought her company so late. Yawning, she follows the direwolf outside, as she does not have it in her to deny him. Shireen reaches a hand out, digging into Shaggydog’s pelt and letting him lead her through the snow. Now, she simply hopes that the excursion is a short one. He takes her straight to the godswood, and Shireen nearly leaves. She remembers eavesdropping on Rickon and his secret meetings with a wildling woman. Surely, she cannot intrude on one without cause. However, Shaggydog presses on, and she can hear no voices. Slowly, she follows.

Her eyes adjust to the low light just before they make it to the Heart Tree, and Shireen sighs. “Yes, Shaggy,” she mutters. “I’ve been here before.”

“Have you?”

Shireen turns sharply to the voice, nearly falling over her feet. Rickon Stark is standing in the hot spring, entirely unclothed. She can just make out the small bundle of clothes beside the pool. Heat rushing to her face, Shireen looks away.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she says quickly. “Your direwolf led me here, and I didn’t think—I just didn’t think it prudent to argue with a direwolf.”

Rickon laughs, and she can hear his small splashes through the pool. “A wise decision,” he says. “Though, I think Shaggydog would follow your command as well.”

“I—I did not mean to intrude,” Shireen tells him, finally looking up. Rickon is nearly submerged in the dark water, blowing bubbles and staring at her. Her mind goes blank, realizing that he is surely naked in the pool. Taking in a deep breath, Shireen looks to her hands.

“I suppose we are even,” he says simply. “Now, you’ve seen me bathe as well.”

“You bathe out here?” Shireen asks, trying not to look up. She overshoots and stares at the leaves of the weirwood instead.

“Aye,” Rickon says softly. “One of my few remaining joys.”

“The women aren’t enough?” Shireen asks before she can help herself. She turns back to apologize, but Rickon waves her off.

“Flocks of them are probably fighting for my bedchambers at the moment,” he says. “I prefer to be gone.”

“Where do you go?” Shireen sits down, thinking that perhaps this is their time to talk now. She smooths out her skirts, leaning against Shaggydog when he curls up around her.

Rickon shrugs, leaning back in the water. “Here, mostly,” he says. “But with little sleep to be had.”

Shireen nearly invites him to her chambers before thinking better of it. Nothing would make her intention so unclear, and she would be better off without implying anything between herself and her liege lord. Absently, Shireen stares into the pool, wondering if it’s as warm as she’s heard, or if she should return to her chambers.

“Avert your eyes, princess,” Rickon says, drawing her attention back. She gives him a confused look. “I mean to leave the pool, and I know how you care for propriety.”

“Believe it or not, I have seen naked men,” she says. “I lived with my father’s army for years, and men lack decency in large numbers.”

With a shrug, Rickon leaves the pool, letting the water flow off his body. He helps it some, wringing out his hair, and pushing it down his arms and legs. Shireen stares at the movement of him, how his muscles flex and give. Soon, she looks to his scars, seeing that no inch of his body has been spared, and that he will bear the marks of the war for the rest of his life. He bends over to fetch his clothes and pauses. He looks directly at her. Shireen jumps back, but refuses to look away. She hadn’t realized she’d been staring, but she will not be likened to a sensitive maid. 

With a smirk, Rickon begins dressing. “Enjoy the sight, princess?” he asks.

Shireen knows that her face is red, and she finds herself at a loss for words. Clasping her hands tight, she looks away.

“Perhaps you’ll find pleasure in it later,” Rickon remarks. There’s something in his voice that Shireen can’t place. She turns back to find him tying his breeches. Rickon sees her look and shrugs. “I suppose it’d be better given, but you can probably manage.”

Her jaw drops, and she must look confused because Rickon laughs.

“Oh, of course,” he says. “You’ve never been kissed by a man. Not even where you’d like it best.”

“Pardon me?” Shireen questions. The conversation is far from appropriate, but her curiosity is piqued. Besides, she never expected Rickon to be proper from what she knew of his upbringing. If anything, it was in her favor to welcome it.

Rickon shrugs again. He doesn’t answer her as he continues dressing. He simply walks over to her when he finishes and offers her a hand. “Shall I escort you back to your chambers?”

Slowly, Shireen takes his hand, standing up. She makes to thank him, but Rickon gasps sharply.

“Is this not too much?” he jests. “Our hands are together.”

Shireen aims a hit across his chest, sending him into peals of laughter. He keeps her hand, though, holding onto it tightly even after he places it at his elbow. Pursing her lips, Shireen stays in step with him, letting him lead her to the keep.

“I have missed your company,” he mumbles. They are still a few paces from the door, and Shireen thinks she misheard him. “Staying in Winterfell is better with you here and worse when I am forced away.”

Shireen bites back a smile, knowing that the color of her cheeks betrays her. Instead of responding, she makes a different comment. “I prefer having Shaggydog around.”

Rickon laughs again, more subdued this time. “He prefers you as well,” he says. “Though, I hope my company isn’t that much worse.”

“There are far less preferable people, my lord,” Shireen responds. She looks up, catching a smile on Rickon’s face that she can’t help but return. His smile grows larger at that, and Shireen thinks he enjoys her company more than he says.

The walk through the keep is quiet, and Shireen feels as if they are both sorting through information, leaving no room to talk. It is also late, and Shireen doesn’t wish to break the spell over the castle. However, when they get to her rooms, Rickon’s grip tightens over hand and she braces herself. Then, she heaves out a sigh.

“Should you wish to sleep,” she starts slowly, “the featherbed has plenty of room for the two of us.”

Rickon gives her a soft smile. “I’d not throw your maidenhead into jeopardy,” he says.

“It wouldn’t be,” Shireen assures him. “No one would think to look for you in my rooms, and if you wish to rule properly, you’ll need to be awake for your council meetings.”

“Thank you,” Rickon mumbles. With a small nod, Shireen steps away, but Rickon pulls her back gently. He briefly kisses her forehead before releasing her. “Goodnight, princess,” he mutters out quickly. Without waiting for a response, he runs off.

As Shireen heads to bed, she thinks on Rickon’s words and actions, how he has changed so much in her two years at Winterfell, and what she knows of him. While he continues to look out for her safety, she wonders if his intentions are pure or if she’s simply become another toy for him to play with.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to Gaby!!

With Shaggydog at Shireen’s side, Winterfell soon becomes the safe haven it was supposed to be for her. Though winter is clearly ending, there has yet to be a day where snow doesn’t fall. Shireen just accepts it as part of her life now, and she still has the warmest rooms to sleep in and a direwolf to keep her warm during the day. Given everything, she is surprised that so few people have questioned her company of Rickon’s direwolf, but she supposes that even they do not wish to invoke the anger of the North.

If anything, her extra precautions as per Rickon’s warning only make her slightly peeved. Shaggydog refuses to step foot in her rooms, opting to wait outside while she takes her meals. True to Rickon’s word, he has delivered every single one for the past month. When lunchtime rolls around, Shireen doesn’t even have to wait for Rickon to knock. She opens the door just as he waits outside.

Rickon grins at her, stepping between Shaggydog’s paws. He holds out the plate to her. “My food,” he says. “Well, your food. Actually, your food is in my room.”

Shireen laughs, taking the plate. “I know, my lord,” she tells him. Their routine has not changed for the past few weeks, surely he need not greet her the same way every time. “Thank you.”

“Of course, princess,” he says, stepping back. “Enjoy the meal.”

Shaking her head at him, Shireen bites into her food, enjoying the meal. Rickon laughs at her, and Shireen sticks her tongue out at him before closing the door. Even with the layer of wood between them, Shireen hears his laughter, and she smiles to herself while she eats.

Caring for her meals has become much of a chore, though Shireen refuses to disobey Rickon’s orders. He has stepped into his position so easily, and he quickly becomes fit to rule. Already his bannermen have shown him so much more respect, and Shireen can’t help but feel it is due to her absence. Even though she still gives him counsel, no one catches them together, particularly as it now happens late at night. He has yet to take her up on the offer of sleep, though Shireen expects to see him soon. Through her small glimpses of him, she notices that he looks more tired as the days wear on, and he seems more worried.

In attempt to get him to sleep, Shireen wanders over to his chambers before dinner. She knocks on the door gently, wondering if he is even inside. The door swings open soon enough. Rickon smiles at her, but his eyes are ringed with red. He runs a hand through his hair, looking confused about inviting her in. Shireen steels herself, determined to stick to her plan. Already, it would be odd for her to be found here.

“A message, my lord,” she says, handing him the folded scrap of parchment.

Rickon furrows his brow, taking the note. Shireen steps back, watching his lips move to form the words as he reads. He frowns at the message, and Shireen can see him ready to contradict her. They are interrupted by the arrival of a serving girl.

“Your Grace,” she says, curtsying in place. She holds out a tray to Rickon, keeping the other far away. “Lady Baratheon, would you like me to deliver yours to your chambers?”

“Oh, um, no,” Shireen says, taking the tray. “I was just headed back. I needed to deliver a message.”

The serving girl gives them a proper curtsy, heading back down the hall. Shireen makes for her rooms, but Rickon calls her back. “Don’t you need my response, princess?” he asks. Shireen hears the wear in his voice, and she purses her lips, heading toward him. “Allow me to accompany you.”

Rickon quickly shuts his door, walking down to her. Before she heads off, Rickon steals her tray, replacing it with his. Shireen rolls her eyes, not breaking her step. “I believe the serving girl wouldn’t have acted so calm in front of you,” she says, leading the way to her rooms.

“You’d be surprised,” Rickon says simply. Still, he follows her to her rooms, entering after her. “I suppose it was not actually a ploy to give me counsel?”

“My lord, you’re about to fall on your feet,” Shireen tells him. “I’d prefer to see you awake during the day.”

Rickon smirks at her, helping himself to a chair and digging into his meal. “Has no one told you that wolves work best at night?”

“Is that why women flock to your bedchambers?” Shireen shoots backs.

Chuckling, Rickon stuffs his mouth, talking while he chews. “Your quips are always prepared, princess,” he says. “Do you still worry about that when I have gone the past four nights without sleep?”

“Perhaps they are why,” Shireen suggests. Even though she trusts him to be honest with her, she still enjoys the japes, thinking that they amuse him more than he lets on. Rickon finishes his meal with a smile on his face, though Shireen sees him begin to nod off in the chair. She pours him some water, nudging it into his hand.

Rickon takes it, drinking deeply before leaning back again. Taking his arm, Shireen pulls him to her bed. Sluggishly, Rickon moves after her. He doesn’t seem to realize that she intends for him to sleep so soon.

“How do you manage in this heat?” Rickon asks. Slowly, he removes his doublet, staying in a tunic and breeches for the night.

“The South was much warmer,” Shireen tells him. She opens a window, letting the cool breeze in.

Kicking off his boots, Rickon settles over the bedsheets. Within a minute, his breathing deepens and his body goes slack. He looks so at ease, so exhausted and relieved at finally having his rest. Save for his breathing, Rickon never moves. Shireen sits at the bedside, reading into the night to allow him his rest. Before she prepares for bed, Shireen takes their trays into the hall, making sure to walk Rickon’s back to his door to avoid any unwanted questions.

In her rooms, Shireen considers staying in a chair for the night. However, Rickon seems to be frozen in one spot. His arm is still bent at the exact same angle as before, and his legs are still half-curled over each other. After seeing his worries mount so much, it is a joy to see him so at ease. With a sigh, Shireen moves over to his side. She sits lightly next to him and reaches over for his forehead. He is still overly-warm, and Shireen knows that her rooms do him no favor.

Before she can convince herself otherwise, Shireen pulls at his tunic. Slowly, she pulls it over his back. Rickon moves limply when she takes it from his arms, falling back to the bed. It seems as if he has not slept in weeks, and Shireen thinks that he requires more comforts. Rickon sighs in his sleep, stretching out just slightly before he stops moving again.

Though he seems to only just be becoming a man, Rickon has stepped into his lordship and kingship without want for it, and Shireen admires his courage at holding a post he never wanted. Shireen dresses for bed slowly, pulling on a nightgown before she decides that keeping her sheets and blankets between them is enough. Rickon has already assured her of her safety, and he doesn’t look fit to wake anytime in the next few days. Easing into her bed, Shireen is all too aware of Rickon’s weight on the other side. She turns away from him, curling up under the blankets to protect herself from the chill of the night so Rickon can sleep in peace.

When Shireen wakes the next morning, she is surprised to see Rickon missing. However, signs of his presence in her room are everywhere. He closed the windows before he left, and a fire is roaring in the brazier. He also seems to have pulled her blankets fully over her, as well as adding a fur. The unspoken words make her happy, though she is a bit wary of his intentions. He made no advance toward her, but she feels safer in his company than she has with any other man. Rickon Stark will do her no harm, and Shireen will not question whatever reason it may be for.

For the next few days, Rickon sheepishly asks for a place in her bed. Though her chambers obviously pull him into sleep faster, Shireen always cools them down the best she can for his comfort, and he returns the favor every morning before she wakes. She wonders when he wakes, as she has never seen him about her rooms. Surely, he knows that she has chosen to share the bed with him, yet he has been oddly quiet about japing with the subject matter.

It isn’t until Shireen wakes in the middle of the night that she becomes more confused. She is warm, warmer than she remembers for the North. After a long while, she opens her eyes, wondering if Rickon has already gone. However, her window is still open, and there is no light from her fire. Slowly, she turns in place, and she realizes that there is a shifting weight pressed up against her back. Rickon has somehow fitted himself to her in his sleep, and his arm rests loosely over her waist. Many layers of furs and blankets separate them, but Shireen feels him closer than ever before. She wonders what would happen should she brush him off but finds that she can’t do even that.

Instead, she turns toward him, looking into his face as he sleeps. His brow is slightly furrowed, and the dark red of his hair looks brown in the low light. Shireen remembers her lessons of the noble houses, and she thinks he looks a lot like his father. Eddard Stark was known for having a long face, with dark hair and eyes, and she can easily see how much of a Stark he is.

With a slow movement, Shireen presses her thumb over his brow, softening the crease there. Rickon squirms some, pursing his lips and digging his head in both directions. She feels the brush of his hair over her palm just before she feels the squeeze of his hand that rests on her back. Shireen waits a moment before combing gently through his hair, and Rickon smacks his lips in his sleep. The sound draws her attention, and she is soon staring at his mouth, tracing the shape of it with her eyes. She briefly remembers the childish fascination with stealing kisses for love, and wonders what it would be like. Keeping her word for propriety seems so foolish now when Rickon has offered whatever she wants, and she feels compelled to break it for that reason alone. All the talk cannot be entirely unfounded, but she cannot bring herself to take anything from this sleeping lord who has given her so much.

 _King_ , she reminds herself. _He is King in the North._ And he will take a bride to be Queen, and she will be named his Hand, and she will, perhaps, be worried for her safety for her entire life. As much as Rickon’s word protects her, jealousy will do her no favors. Should any queen of his find out that she’s freely offered her bed for his comfort, she’s likely to be slain for fear of carrying his bastards. Though she knows Rickon will deny all of it and continue to protect her, she cannot allow anything else to come between them, even if thoughts of stealing his kisses follow her to sleep.

Within the next week, a blizzard hits Winterfell. It is oddly appropriate given the coldness with which she has been treating Rickon, but Shireen refuses to allow her own wants to overshadow her needs. Safety is her priority, and she will do well to remember it. Rickon, however, sees it as an opportunity to make even more japes at her expense, often becoming more crass to get a rise out of her. Shireen deflects him as much as she can, until she finally caves and tells him.

“A kiss?” Rickon asks. She can tell that he thinks it an amusing thought, and she regrets it already. He seems bent on making it as terrible as possible, though. “Who has captured your affections? I am sure that I can get them to fulfill your wish.”

“It was simply a childish thought,” Shireen tells him, hoping to be done with the whole conversation. “No one will ever wish to kiss me, and I will die a maid.”

Rickon’s smile softens. “You wish for more?”

Shireen slowly shakes her head. “I’d wish for love,” she admits. “But it is something I will never have. I know my affections are not to be returned, and I’d not get my hopes up.”

“I thought you were content as a maid,” he says evenly. Shireen cannot read the look in his eyes, and she feels that his japes have rather quickly died. “Do you wish for more?”

Shireen shakes her head, slumping onto her bed. “It is not your concern,” she tells him. “And I know better than to wish for something I can’t have.”

Though she refuses to look at him, she can hear him preparing for bed. She counts his preparations. The storm has been raging for days, and she feels she knows him better for it. His boots fall, his cloak, doublet, tunic, a sword… Shireen sees him cross to her window, opening it slightly and letting in a chill. Immediately, she goes under her blankets. To her surprise, Rickon doesn’t cover her with a fur, but he does take his place next to her.

“Princess,” he mumbles. His hand falls to her hip, turning her over slowly. 

Shireen feels the brush of his fingers greater than before, particularly as his hand lingers on her hip and up to her waist. Curling in her arms, Shireen tries to look evenly at him. Rickon gives her a curious look before freeing his other arm. Slowly, he moves her hair from her face, exposing her neck, and he even moves his fingers over her greyscale. At that, Shireen sighs, slumping down and away from him.

“Horrible, I know,” she says, hoping to be done with whatever display he is giving her.

Rickon chuckles, and his fingers continue over her greyscale before dropping away. Thinking him finished, she means to turn away again, but a soft warm breath over her face draws her back. Shireen can feel Rickon’s curls weighing slightly on her hair, and the press of his chest against her arm. Swallowing hard, Shireen turns to face him. Slowly, she realizes that he has kissed her greyscale. Shireen raises a hand to it slowly, but there has never been any sensation on that side of her face. Rickon smiles at her, though. He reaches out again, and Shireen can see him gaining purchase on her jaw even though she cannot feel it. Rickon doesn’t seem to realize what it is, or he’s ignoring it completely, because he draws her closer until they are scarcely apart.

“Would you steal a kiss from me?” he asks softly. “Not the handsome, honorable lord you deserve, but a man who will accept you as you are?”

“Will you?” Shireen asks back. Her hands tighten into fists to keep her from acting. She cannot admit her affections for him, but he invites her in so smoothly that she’d be a fool to deny him. Rickon smiles. He rests his head into the pillow, and she feels the brush of his nose against hers. Already, she wants more.

“I have,” Rickon says simply. His thumb brushes over her greyscale, and Shireen leans into him pressing their lips together. His mouth is far softer than she imagined, far more gentle and inviting. He seems to be frozen against her, but his hand slides down to her waist slowly. His eyes blink open, and Shireen can see the bright green of them in low light. Breathing out a sigh, she moves into him, hoping that he enjoys the kiss as much as she does.

If anything, he seems to enjoy it more. They move together almost seamlessly, reaching out and pulling the other closer at every opportunity. Shireen grabs onto his face, crushing their lips together, but Rickon slows her down. He pushes her mouth open, letting their breaths mingle, and the heat builds between them. Tentatively, Shireen licks her lips, and her tongue hits his lips as well. In response, Rickon meets her tongue with his, slowly drawing her in. She follows him slowly, tracing her way through his mouth and letting her eyes flutter closed. Shireen means to get lost in this sensation, and she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

Rickon moans into her mouth, and his arms pin her tight to his body. Shireen finds herself wishing that there was less between them. Absently, she digs her fingers through his hair, eliciting another moan from him, and his hands grip her waist, palming up her ribs. With a few short kisses, Rickon pulls away from her mouth to trace down her neck. He kisses and sucks at it, sparing no inch from his mouth. By the time he returns to her mouth, she is breathing hard, thinking herself broken from this act.

“Are you… do you… shouldn’t we sleep, my lord?” she asks between breaths.

The answering smirk makes her heart beat faster, and Shireen finds herself turning into his prey. “Do you want to?” he asks. He kisses her some more, deeper and harder than she expects, but she welcomes it.

“No,” Shireen breathes out. She kisses him back, pulling down her blankets as much as she can. “I’m afraid my curiosities are only growing.”

“Beyond kisses?” Rickon asks. He starts helping off the blankets, pulling her flush against his body. Nuzzling into her neck, Rickon kisses and sucks at her skin.

“Oh, I…” Shireen has a hard time breathing, and a harder time thinking still. Unfortunately, only one thought survives his assault, and she holds onto it. “Were these the kisses you mentioned?”

Rickon pulls away, obviously confused by her question. She wishes she never asked because now he is away from her. Slowly, realization spreads across his face, and he laughs softly. “No, princess,” he mumbles. “Those would be… elsewhere.”

“Where?” Shireen asks, wondering what could feel better than this.

Surprisingly, Rickon’s face flushes slightly. She tries to glare at him, though it is difficult when she is breathing so hard. Even slower than before, Rickon draws her close. He places her flat on her back and pulls up her sheets. Kissing her gently, his hand slides down her stomach to the hem of her nightdress. Shireen hitches in a breath, and his hand travels back up tracing slowly up her leg before finding its way over her smallclothes. With a very deliberate motion, he moves down between her legs.

“Here,” Rickon whispers, moving his hand slowly over her.

It is nearly impossible to stop herself from reacting to the motion, and Shireen gives way to it. Rickon’s hand doesn’t pick up speed, but continues over her smallclothes. Moisture begins to build between her legs and Shireen reaches down to remove her smallclothes for fear of ruining them. Rickon kisses her gently, pressed up against her side. When the cloth is no longer in the way, Rickon starts again. He eases his fingers over her, and she can tell that he is exploring her.

The friction alone is enough to drive her mad, but Rickon seems to be missing all the vital points. Turning into him, Shireen tries to question him further. “Why would you put your mouth there?” she asks.

Again, she immediately regrets it, for Rickon removes his hand entirely. He kisses her briefly before he sucks on his fingers, and Shireen cannot help staring as he obviously tastes something else. Paying her no mind, Rickon completely licks over his hand. Then, he returns it between her legs. A sharp gasp falls from Shireen’s lips, and Rickon kisses her forehead, shushing her. His fingers work her over, though, finally locating the spot that makes her mouth drop open. Rickon smiles at his success, picking up speed and applying more pressure.

As her breathing gets shallower, Shireen grasps at Rickon. She pulls at his waist before finding his chin and kissing him fully. Without realizing it, she starts rocking up into his hand, and he responds, moving around her more between bouts of making her gasp. Slowly, he dips down lower, pressing his fingers against her entrance. Gasping again, Shireen blinks up when Rickon pauses.

“Would it be taking your maidenhead?” he asks. Quickly, Shireen shakes her head no. It makes him laugh, but he kisses her again, easing one of his fingers inside of her. Shireen moans into his mouth, and tries to focus on the feeling of him within her. Beyond the pressure, Shireen wishes for more friction, more movement, and she tries to show him. It isn’t long before Rickon slowly pushes into her repeatedly, and it is a shorter time still that she becomes accustomed to it. Without breaking their kiss or his rhythm, Rickon adds another of his fingers, stretching her even wider.

Shireen slumps back to her pillows at the pleasure of it, allowing herself to focus on the feeling that he gives her. Rickon continues to kiss at her face, and he extends his hand as much as possible to knead the heel of his hand over her while he pushes into her. Gasping and bucking against him, Shireen tries to draw out the feeling of it, the feeling of him. Rickon definitely aims to please her, though, and he does not stop until she is gasping and her nails are digging into his skin.

“Oh, I—I cannot,” Shireen stammers feebly. It is a wonder she can even form words, given how detached her mind feels.

Rickon shushes her again. His arm slides under her neck, and he holds her close. “Relax, princess,” he tells her.

“How can I… when you-- _Oh!_ ” Shireen breathes out.

Licking his lips, Rickon keeps working at her until she can take no more. Luckily, she is incapable of producing sound, because she fears that the cry would have been louder that she expects. Slowing his pace, Rickon eases his hand from her to rest on her hip. She can feel the moisture there, but she pays it no mind, turning in his arms.

“And you do that for women?” she asks, unable to stop herself.

Rickon chuckles again, rolling his eyes. “I do it for women I _like_ ,” he corrects. “Which is nearly none in Winterfell.”

“Nearly none?” Shireen asks, staring him in the eyes.

He softens, leaning forward to kiss her. The kiss is soft and gentle, making Shireen lost again under his touch. Rickon breaks it just as gently, staring at her. “It is one,” he clarifies. “Though, I thought she preferred the company of others.”

“Why did you think that?” Shireen asks, thinking that she can play his game just as well.

“She is a princess,” Rickon tells her. “And I am little more than a wildling playing false at being king.”

Shireen smiles back, kissing him lightly before settling in for sleep. Rickon’s arms stay around her, and Shireen finds herself thankful for the breeze now that she is overly-warm for the first time since coming north. She wonders how much she’ll miss Rickon once he’s fully taken from her.

“Will you pleasure your wife so?” she asks softly in the growing darkness.

“Only if I like her,” Rickon responds. “There are very few women I can say that of, and far less that enjoy me as well.”

“Many speak of you in high regard for your _talents_ in bed,” Shireen mumbles.

Rickon chuckles, kissing her neck. “None have received them,” he assures her, “though rumors are like to build regardless.”

Shireen turns toward him again, stealing another kiss before she succumbs to a night of sleep. It is easy to lose herself with Rickon’s weight against her, far easier than she ever expected. With little encouragement Rickon pulls her even closer, wrapping his warmth about her for the night. Though her sleep is restful, it is light, and Shireen’s mind buzzes with the recent memories. When Rickon wakes in the early hours of the morning, she does, too. She hides, though, feigning sleep. She hears him dressing and moving about the room, preparing the fire and closing the window. As he pulls the blankets over her, he chuckles. He leans down to kiss her greyscale, and she opens her eyes.

“You should be sleeping, princess,” Rickon mutters. “It is far too early.”

Shireen groans, sitting up slowly with the new weight of furs over her. Rickon gives her a smile, sitting on the edge of her bed. There is a pull deep in her stomach, making her want to reach for him. Shireen masters her body, stilling her hands. Holding back all her desires, Shireen looks Rickon in the eyes.

“Why did you kiss me?” she asks. All of her faith in him, all of the trust she has in him, comes to this. Shireen holds herself from the acceptance of it. Regardless of his words, she knows that men lie to get whatever they wish for.

There is something in Rickon’s resolve that make her trust in him grow. Shireen watches as Rickon looks evenly at her. His gaze doesn’t waver, and she thinks he holds his breath. When Rickon breathes in deeply, she realizes she is right. His eyes close, and his hands fidget in his lap. “Because I wanted to,” he whispers. He looks up, giving her a weak smile. “Even if we are not to be wed, you deserve the pleasure of a marriage. Do you still wish not to be wed?”

Shireen feels a hard knot grow in her chest. Breathing is difficult, but she will not allow her resolve to waver. She does not wish for a husband. She has no reason to place herself into a loveless marriage. Even if Rickon has shown her some affection, she cannot trust his wants to stay steady, nor can she chance that a marriage to him would be as pleasing as one night has been. With a hard swallow, Shireen shakes her head.

Rickon nods slowly in response, looking down to his hands. “As you wish,” he says softly. “You are no longer betrothed, nor will anyone force you to a marriage. Though, you are welcome to steal me as you’d like.”

He gives her a weak smile, standing up. Rickon looks over to her for a moment, and she wonders what he thinks. After a long moment, Rickon leans over to kiss her greyscale. It is a brief kiss, but Shireen still wishes to drag him closer again. He pulls away quickly, though, and makes for the door. 

“Will you return?” she calls after him.

“Of course,” Rickon replies. He taps his fingers against the door, twisting his mouth around. “I have to deliver your breakfast.”


	5. Chapter 5

Rickon doesn’t return to her room for the next three nights. While Shireen is tempted to be cross with him and demand that he rest, she knows that she holds ulterior motives and cannot ask him to return in good faith. Though she tries to pleasure herself as Rickon did, she finds that it is difficult, and she isn’t quite sure what he did. Asking seems entirely out of the question, but she finds another reason to seek him out when she realizes there may be another reason why he has left her.

It is only because she stumbles into a council meeting that she discovers Winterfell has a guest. Shireen is surprised to find a young woman sitting at Rickon’s side, where she used to sit. Though she hasn’t attended a council meeting in a long time, Shireen is annoyed that he has given away her chair. No one seems to notice her, though, so Shireen stays at the door and watches on.

“It is a good match,” a lord says. “And you need a wife.”

“I believe I need your obedience more,” Rickon shoots back. “Or did you not hear my specific directions regarding my marriage?”

“We thought that it wouldn’t be harmful for you to meet other eligible ladies,” someone else replies. He nearly goes on, but the woman cuts him off.

“Forgive me, my lord,” she says gently. “I didn’t realize that my presence was unwanted.”

Rickon shakes his head. “It is no fault of yours,” he says. “I hope your rooms have been adequate.”

“They have,” the woman replies. “Though, I suppose this explains my lack of a welcome.”

Shireen is grateful that Rickon faces away from her. A deep weight has settled into her stomach, and she feels nauseated. Already, a new plaything has arrived for Rickon and he has wasted no time in seeing to her. Shireen is positively seething, even if she has no right to be, and she makes to leave when she sees the woman place a hand on Rickon’s arm. Before she can react, a mass of fur pushes past her, growling and bounding up to Rickon’s side.

Screams come from the table, and several chairs are knocked over as the lords attempt to move away from the direwolf. Shireen smirks when she realizes that the woman has been completely forced over in her chair and struggles to stand again. Only then does Shireen make her way into the room, calling Shaggydog back. The direwolf goes slowly, never ceasing his growls and beating at the floor more than necessary.

“Apologies, my lord,” Shireen says, feigning innocence. “He asked for entrance, and I had no idea that you were in here.”

Rickon gives her a hard look, knowing her concerns, and his eyes meet hers directly. Slowly the lady gets to her feet, brushing off her skirts and turning to Rickon.

“Is that the beast’s handler?” she asks.

Rickon obviously bristles at the comment, turning to the woman with a hash look. “That is my betrothed,” he states simply. With even steps, Rickon walks to Shireen’s side and takes her hand. Though Shireen has half a mind not to give it, she basks in the look of horror on the woman’s face. “Princess, this is Lady Lyanna Mormont. She was called here by my council.”

With all the etiquette she can muster, Shireen curtsies to her. “My lady.”

“Betrothed?” Lyanna asks.

“Yes,” Rickon and Shireen say at the same time. Their voices are equally sharp, and she wonders if she has again misjudged Rickon.

Lyanna looks between the two of them, but Shireen sees past her. The council behind her looks disgusted with her presence in the room, and she sees obvious looks of hatred. The moment stretches out, and the council slowly departs. Shireen lets Rickon’s hand fall, crossing the hall to make for her rooms. She hears Shaggydog following after her long before she hears Rickon running to catch up. In the hallway, Shireen presses on even though Rickon speaks at her.

“I forgot she was coming,” he blurts out, trying to fight past his direwolf. “I had to show her around the keep, find handmaidens for her, and give her rooms… She insisted on being shown everything, and it consumed all my time.”

Shireen turns sharply, glaring at him over the direwolf. “Is that why you’ve ignored me every time you’ve delivered my meals?” she asks. “Or never answered my questions? Perhaps your time is better spent with Lady Lyanna instead of seeing to my safety.”

Rickon groans loudly, following her to her door. “Princess, I—” he falters, fighting his direwolf to stop her from closing the door on him. Breathing heavily, he looks over to her. “I mean you no disrespect. I was playing at being a lord and forgot my courtesies. I also thought you’d simply summon me if you wished for my presence, and you’ve done no such thing.”

Opening her mouth to argue, Shireen finds that she can’t. She had simply assumed that Rickon already grew bored with her and sought to replace her. It never occurred to her that he was simply busy. Rickon swallows, taking a small step away from the doorway. Without bothering to stop herself, Shireen snags his wrist, pulling him in with a tug and leaning up to kiss his cheek. She pulls away slowly, trying to mend over the past few days. “Have you been resting?”

“Not well,” Rickon admits, shaking his head slowly. He runs a hand through his hair, though he leaves his other in her grip.

“Come back tonight,” Shireen whispers. She leans onto her toes, pressing into him gently. With a quick motion, she pecks him on the lips before stepping back in her room. She doesn’t want to admit that she misses having him in her bed, but the truth of it is plain as day.

Rickon reads through her, giving her a knowing smile. He pulls her back in for a kiss, letting it linger and seep into her before he draws away. “Of course,” he murmurs.

Shireen wants to kiss him again. She feels her chest aching for him, and she yearns to run her fingers through his hair. Waiting for the night will surely be torturous, particularly as she knows that he is likely to give his company to Lyanna Mormont to apologize for the misunderstanding. Still, Shireen comforts herself with the fact that he will be hers again tonight, that he will share no one else’s bed. With a smile, Shireen goes about the rest of her day, walking the grounds with Shaggydog and making sure that she keeps Rickon and Lyanna in her sights as often as possible.

To her credit, Lyanna takes the news well, even if she is a bit miffed at the lies that brought her here. Shaggydog also growls at her at every opportunity, and Shireen can’t help but feel that the direwolf has excellent taste in women.

Shireen eagerly awaits nightfall, though, and she paces her rooms as she waits for the eventual delivery of her dinner. Rickon arrives in a rush, pounding on her door. Shireen’s smile falls when she sees how annoyed he looks.

“A matter has arisen that I must see to,” he says, handing her the plate. “It would seem that my council refused to call off their invitations, and I am doing so tonight so that we have no more unwanted visitors.”

“I can help,” Shireen offers, reaching for his hand.

Rickon gives her an easy smile. “You should enjoy your evening, princess,” he says. “I will come when the task is finished.”

Shireen gives him a small smile, nodding. “My door will be open for you.”

Before he leaves, Rickon pulls her in for a deep kiss, and Shireen nearly drops her food from being lost in the sensation. He chuckles when he releases her, shaking his head gently before he disappears back down the hall.

Shireen waits impatiently, uncertain if she should dress for the night when she paces her room nonstop. It feels as if she has not been near Rickon in forever, and she hopes that he will return soon. 

As the night moves on, Shireen feels as if she has once again been played for a fool when Rickon is naught to be found. Huffing out a breath, Shireen closes her window and starts preparing for bed when a loud bark from the hall cuts through to her ears. Pulling on a cloak, Shireen exits to see Shaggydog rounding a corner, and she follows after him quickly. A loud scream pierces through the hall, and Shireen runs faster, wondering what the cause is. A serving girl sits in the hall across from Rickon’s room cowered against the wall. Her hand is pressed to her mouth, as if she is trying to stifle a sob. Shireen hurries past her, following her gaze into Rickon’s room.

The sight that greets her is horrifying. Rickon is sprawled out on his back, his skin looking unnaturally pale. Shaggydog whines at him, circling him repeatedly and nudging him with his snout. Shireen turns to the corridor.

“Call the maester,” she says sharply. When the serving girl doesn’t move, Shireen repeats herself louder, screaming at the girl. Then, she kneels down at Rickon’s side, wondering how to help. She doesn’t know how long it has been or if he will even survive. Shaking uncontrollably, Shireen leans down, pressing her ear to his chest. His heartbeat is so slow and weak, sending waves of panic that only multiply when she finds that he isn’t breathing. Tears spring to her eyes, and she feebly tries to wake Rickon.

Shireen doesn’t even notice when the maester arrives. Without knowing it, she follows his directions, moving Rickon into a different position and forcing something down his throat when the maester asks it of her. Shireen cradles him gently, allowing a small trickle of water down his throat to follow the substance from before. Shaggydog lets out a sound that is somewhere between a growl and bark, and Rickon sputters into consciousness.

Rickon chokes on something, and Shireen gently turns him to his side. Instantly, he begins retching, and Shireen can feel his entire body struggling to accomplish that alone. Shireen can’t stop crying though, seeing the obvious pain of the actions on Rickon. His hands shake, and he clutches weakly at his throat, but the retching doesn’t stop. Though the smell is disgusting, Shireen never leaves, keeping Rickon situated properly and leaning over him to murmur sweet nothings into his ear. The maester grumbles, fixing up a few other drinks for Rickon.

“It’ll clear his stomach,” the maester tells her. He places a small vial at her side. “Make sure he drinks this when it is done. I’ll have a bed prepared for him in my chambers.”

Shireen nods weakly, pushing Rickon’s hair back as a new wave of nausea floods over him. Rubbing his back in large circles, Shireen waits it out with him, keeping his head in her lap the entire time. Though he often goes limp over her legs, he comes to quickly each time, retching until nothing but a hollow sound leaves him. Shaggydog slowly moves over on clean ground, licking Rickon’s hands softly. Rickon weakly lifts his hands, and Shaggydog shoves his snout under them. Rickon coughs weakly, turning down as if expecting more to come from his empty stomach. Pressing down into her skirts, Rickon only just seems to notice her.

“Princess,” he croaks out hoarsely.

Shushing him, Shireen runs her fingers through his hair again. She waits until he tries to sit up on his own before she helps him up, letting his weight fall against her. Reaching out blindly, she grabs the maester’s bottle and holds it up to his mouth. “Drink,” she tells him softly. “And then you can rest. “

Nodding slowly, Rickon takes the drink. He makes a sour face the whole time, but Shireen is simply thankful that he can drink at all. She sees that each swallow pains him and wishes she could make it better. Rickon turns to her as much as he can, lifting a hand to her greyscale. 

“It could have been you,” he mumbles.

Grabbing his hand, Shireen presses it to her mouth. “No,” she tells him. “You kept me safe.”

Rickon gives her a weak smile before slumping down onto her shoulder. Shireen nearly leaves him there, thinking that she will stay here all night with him, but she knows that he requires additional care. She beckons Shaggydog over, lifting Rickon the best she can over his back. It takes a long time, but she manages it if she goes up with him. Holding him in place, Shireen looks to Shaggydog, wondering if she has thought through this plan poorly.

“Will you take him to the maester’s chambers?” she asks, stroking the direwolf’s fur, knowing that he’ll somehow understand.

To her amazement, Shaggydog complies. He eases through doorways, and heads upstairs slowly. Shireen holds onto Rickon tightly the entire time, worried that the dead weight of him will fall and harm him more. Shaggydog doesn’t allow it, though, keeping them steady into the room. Rickon comes to briefly, only just managing to help her get him to the bed before he goes unconscious again. Though the maester tries to tend to Rickon alone, Shireen refuses to leave, and she cleans off his mouth gently, making sure that he will have little to remember the night by. The maester forces a few other liquids down his throat, and Shireen sees the pain cross Rickon’s face as he swallows. There is nothing she can do for that, but she positions him on his side before she finally takes her leave.

Rickon has a long recovery. He stays in the maester’s chambers for a week, not leaving his bed for a few days. During his time there, he dismisses his entire council, as well as forcing the household under interrogation to determine who planted the poison and where it came from. Shireen sneaks into his chambers whenever she knows she won’t be caught. Usually her visits are spent reading to him, and Rickon often falls asleep over her legs during the small times. He rests mostly, but he starts eating minimally. Shireen fears that his throat cannot handle the bulk of food, and he sips at broth for a long time.

When he finally is allowed to leave, Shireen finds him in her rooms early in the morning. In the darkness, Rickon sits on the edge of her bed. Rolling toward him, Shireen looks up with a smile. Rickon returns it, and he burrows down into her, squeezing her tight. Absently, Shireen combs through his hair, letting him stay still. Rickon pulls away gently, leaning up and kissing her greyscale.

“Forgive me, princess,” he mumbles. “But I must go for a while. I’ll be back for you.”

Shireen blinks up at him, accepting a gentle close-mouthed kiss from him before he leaves the room. A distant part of her brain isn’t sure she actually experienced his visit, and when she wakes in the morning, she isn't surprised to find that Rickon is missing. Dressing for the day, she searches the keep for him, finding that both he and Shaggydog are gone from Winterfell. With a drag in her step, Shireen goes about her day, surprised to find that the castellan wasn’t aware of Rickon’s disappearance. He comes to her after noon, frazzled that so many people have come for advice from Rickon and finding that he has dismissed his entire council and is missing himself.

With a sigh, Shireen heads down to the hall, slumping down into a chair and hearing grievances. As has become her experience at Winterfell, all matters of dispute are simple to solve. Shireen takes notes idly, making sure that her word is clear on the matter before dismissing each party. She spends a long time in the hall, listening to the smallfolk of the North and assisting where she can. As the time comes to a close, Shireen nearly leaves, tired as she is from the summons today. However, the last few men speaking are the lords of Rickon’s former council. Staring them down as evenly as she can, Shireen raises her voice. “What matters have you for Winterfell?” she asks.

“’M ’ere to speak with my king,” the man spits out at her, “not his whore.”

Brushing the comment away, Shireen sits up straighter looking down at the man. She recognizes him, as well as the few men behind him. None look quite as peeved as he does, and Shireen wonders what singular offense she has done to Lord Manderly. “You will speak to me as you speak to him,” Shireen states. “Or you will not speak at all.”

Lord Manderly bristles, shoving a finger at her. “You poisoned our king, whore!” he yells loudly, obviously hoping the entire keep hears him. “You tried to kill him and take his throne.”

Shireen nearly rolls her eyes, wondering if this man is so blind to the obvious laws of inheritance. “Half his throne will be mine when we are wed,” she says, keeping her voice low.

“You’re a selfish whore!” Lord Manderly yells out. “I should kill you for what you did to my king!”

Before Shireen can react, Lord Manderly pulls out a sword. Shireen briefly wonders how he expects to harm her, seeing as he can barely lift his blade. Though it seems that Lord Manderly is too fat to carry his own weight, he somehow manages to take a few steps forward. Narrowing her eyes at him, Shireen thinks of the blade in her boot, knowing that it would be simple to defend herself against him.

She doesn’t have to. Before she can so much as bend down for the blade, she hears Lord Manderly’s blade clatter to the floor. Looking up, she finds that a large man stands between them, facing off against Lord Manderly.

“You disgrace your queen to be,” the man says. His voice is deeper than she expects, though his massive form leaves little question as to why.

“Enough,” Shireen calls loudly. She walks down to the floor, placing a hand on the man’s arm and gently nudging him away. Facing Lord Manderly directly, Shireen lowers her voice, hoping the severity will become apparent. “You are no longer welcome in Winterfell. Return to your keeps before you are not welcome there either.”

The protests rise on the lords’ faces, and Shireen prepares herself for another attack. Almost simultaneously, the lords glance over the man at her side and their bravado falters. With none too pleasant a glance, they slowly turn away and leave the hall. Breathing out a heavy sigh, Shireen turns to the man. “You have my thanks, Lord…”

“Umber,” the man supplies. “I attended to Robb Stark during the war.”

“A loyal man,” Shireen states. She steps away slowly, wondering what to do with him. She knows that she needs to clear the hall for dinner, but she fears that Lord Umber has yet to be welcome in to the keep. “If you’ll excuse me, I must be…”

As Shireen steps away, Lord Umber makes a swipe at her wrist and she wonders what pressing matter has made him so aggressive. Thankfully, at the same time, a loud snarl rips through the hall. Soon, Shaggydog is circling Shireen, baring his teeth at Lord Umber. He steps back. Even as large as he is, Shaggydog stands taller and his anger is obvious. Shireen touches Shaggydog’s fur to stop his pacing, taking a step back with him. Bowing slightly, she turns from the hall.

Shaggydog follows her all the way to the hall outside her room. His snout presses into her hair, and Shireen finally turns to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” Shireen tells the direwolf. “Though, it’s largely put off my appetite. I will find you in the morning.”

Shaggydog whines at her, but Shireen simply gives him a smile. She stays out in the hall with him a while longer, thinking that Rickon must be close and will come to her. However, after several minutes pass, Shireen counts her losses. She leaves the direwolf in the hall, entering her rooms slowly. Without bothering to wait for Rickon, Shireen prepares for bed. Pulling on her nightgown, Shireen climbs into bed. Sitting up, she looks about her room. The window is still closed, and she knows that Rickon will be overly hot should he come. Walking over, Shireen opens her window, immediately feeling the harsh chill of the North. Shireen hurries back to the bed, burrowing under her blankets quickly and letting sleep come.


	6. Chapter 6

It is the dead of night, and Shireen has slept fitfully. At night, she has been waking at odd intervals, only to become annoyed that she cannot sleep. Turning to her side, Shireen curls in on herself, hoping for anything to make the night pass. Almost in response to her wish, she hears small shuffling before she feels the shifting of her sheets. Rolling over slowly, Shireen looks up and finds Rickon smiling down at her. He opens his arms a bit, sliding down under her blankets. Without pause, Shireen moves into him. Her arms wrap around his middle, tugging him tight to her chest. Shireen places her head over his shoulder, glancing up at him.

“Shaggydog beat me here,” he says. “By hours… He wouldn’t wait for me to come back.”

Sighing, Shireen rests more securely on him. She isn’t sure what to say, what Rickon expects her to tell him. She stays quiet, thinking that perhaps sleep will come better with him here. However, Shireen wishes that it won’t. She misses Rickon dearly, and she will stay up all night if only to be reassured of his presence.

Luckily, Rickon seems to be thinking the same thing. She feels his mouth on her hair, his hot breath covering her slowly. He takes a deep, shaky breath, and Shireen looks up again. Rickon’s eyes are shut tight, and his grip on her tightens. Suddenly, he lets go, releasing her to the featherbed. Just as Shireen makes to protest, Rickon half-rolls over her, grabbing her face and kissing her firmly. Gasping against his mouth, Shireen reaches for his waist. Rickon doesn’t stop kissing her, keeping his mouth hard against hers and pressing his tongue deep into her. After a long while, he moves away, kissing her face repeatedly and moving down to suck on her neck.

“You saved me,” he murmurs in between his kisses. “I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.”

Shireen wraps her arms around him, pulling him down over her. Her hands find his hair, combing through it. “I can’t let you die,” she tells him. “Without you, I’d be dead just as quick.”

Rickon shakes his head at her, moving back up to claim her lips. “No,” he says. “Shaggydog would never allow it.”

Shireen laughs, only to have the sound swallowed by Rickon’s kiss. Part of her wonders how safe they are, if Rickon is truly healed or if she should be spurring him on. The other part doesn’t care. It only recognizes that she has him now, and that she can be as close as she wants to him. She pushes him over gently, wondering how to tell him that she wishes for his touch again. Sweeping her hands over his chest, Shireen leans up to press a kiss to him gently. Rickon finally relaxes letting her rest on his chest and move her hands over his skin. She never stops her movement, even as she pulls apart the lacing of his breeches and works her way down to his hips.

Only the new situation of his clothing seems to have caught his attention, and Rickon looks down at her. He smiles easily, finding her fingers on the edge of his smallclothes. “What are you doing, princess?” he asks gently.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable without them,” Shireen says boldly, sitting up slightly to look at him. “After all, you need your rest.”

Rickon nods, a small chuckle on his lips. “I suppose I would,” he says, reaching over to brush a lock of hair over her ear. His hand slowly trails down her arm, slipping over to rest on her hip. Shireen sees his mouth open, and she thinks a question waits there, but Rickon thinks better of it. He simply rubs his palm over her hip, dragging her nightgown around with it.

Turning away from him, Shireen pulls off his breeches, sliding them down the length of his legs. She feels his laughter, though she doesn’t hear it. Before she can stop herself, Shireen removes his smallclothes as well, and she largely expects that Rickon has stopped breathing. With a steadying breath, Shireen feels her way over him. She finds her fingers shaking, though she doesn’t know if it is from nerves or the cold. Shireen traces her fingers over his hip, sliding into the small dip that edges toward his stomach. Rickon sucks in a sharp breath before sitting up suddenly. Thinking she did something wrong, Shireen stops. However, Rickon simply leans against her. He reaches past her and grabs a fur, pulling it over her shoulders.

“You’re cold,” he says simply. Rickon gently cups her face, bringing their lips together. 

His warmth spreads through her slowly, consuming her body and filling her up. Shireen presses her hands to his chest, letting them reach temperature before they fall between them. Her hands skim over him, and she feels Rickon’s eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. Rickon deepens their kiss, pulling her closer. Shireen’s curiosity is piqued, though, and she seeks out the source of it. Slowly, she traces her fingers over the length of him, feeling the drag of the softest flesh she has ever felt. In comparison, his hands have been massively ruined and callused from his swordplay, but here he is soft. Wrapping a hand around him, Shireen explores him slowly. Rickon sucks in a heavy breath, pressing their foreheads together and only just pulling his mouth away.

“ _Princess_ ,” he moans out.

Shireen shushes him, kissing him gently before returning to her administrations. She pulls over the length of him, stroking him to find the pull and rhythm that he enjoys. Words seem to flee his mind, and his mouth drops open with heavy breaths. He seems to be trying to kiss her, but he can’t manage to actually get any nearer. Shireen smiles at the thought that she has this power of him, that she can make him breathless and incapable of movement. Feeling her way over him, Shireen wonders if there is more. She strokes up the length of him, changing the grip of her hand and letting her fingers drag over the tip. A moisture has grown there, and Shireen swirls her fingers over it, making him shudder. Filled with curiosity, Shireen brings her fingers to her mouth, wondering what the taste of him is.

During the small reprieve, Rickon falls back to the pillows, his breaths coming short and fast. He seems to be trying to regain his composure, though his arm is thrown over his eyes and there is the faintest trace of a smile over his lips. Struck with a thought, Shireen remembers his previous actions, and she licks over her hand, wetting it as much as possible. Then, she wraps her hand around him again. Rickon shudders hard, looking up at her with a pleading expression. Shireen takes it as encouragement, and she again begins to stroke him. It doesn’t take long for Rickon to start thrusting into her hand, but it soon becomes dry again.

Shireen finds his words coming to mind yet again, and she leans down to run her tongue over him. The resulting effect on Rickon is immediate. He groans loudly, and his hand fists tight in her nightgown. Shireen’s interests lie more firmly in the sensations. The smooth skin of him feels fascinating under her tongue, and Rickon seems to enjoy it as well. Brushing her spare hand through the hair at the base of him, Shireen holds him firmly before licking over the top of him. Rickon bucks up into her, and Shireen holds him down harder. She tries to keep him steady as she slowly draws him into her mouth. Rickon groans louder. He blindly reaches out for her, but Shireen swats his hands away. She wants to figure him out on her own. With the length of him in her mouth, Shireen quickly figures out how to breathe and where to press her tongue to elicit soft moans from him. She is surprised by the taste of him, finding that it isn’t entirely unpleasant. The tension in him only seems to be growing, and she can feel the flex of his muscles as she tests out her pace. Rickon seems to want the friction, pressing into her in the small space she allows him.

Keeping him down, Shireen feels his stomach moving erratically with the effort of breathing, and she slides her hand over the flat of his abs, giving herself better purchase on him. She speeds up her pace as much as she can, moving her tongue all around him at every opportunity. A strangled gasp spills from his lips, and Rickon seems to almost be choking on a sound. When he is at his deepest in her, Shireen nearly chokes herself, taken by surprise as his seed spills. Gathering herself, Shireen draws him in again, lapping him up and swallowing him down. Rickon shudders again, reaching out for her. He holds her face gently, bringing her in for a light kiss.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t—I tried to—it was—you’re _wonderful_.”

Shireen nearly blushes at the compliment, thinking that her actions certainly don’t merit that level of conviction. Still, she appreciates his words, and she smiles at him. Rickon returns the smile, pulling her back down as if to kiss her. However, he stops to wrap his arms over her back and pulls her over him. Shireen stumbles over him, falling down on the featherbed on his other side. Her legs rest over his hips, and Rickon turns into her, cradling her in his arms. With a devious smirk, Rickon meets her lips, prying her mouth open with his tongue before sweeping through her mouth. Moaning into his mouth, Shireen lets herself fall deeper into him. Surely, there is something deeply intimate about kissing him after what she has done to him, and she hopes to reciprocate it when she can.

Rickon seems intent on it, though. He moves down to suck at her neck and his hands travel to the hem of her nightgown. Shireen thinks he means to undress her, but he merely seeks out her smallclothes, removing them. He returns her to the safety of the featherbed, keeping her from the edge and gently placing her into the pillows. Kissing at her jaw, Rickon digs his fingers into her hips. He is overeager to get at her, and Shireen can see his impatience.

“Allow me to return the favor, princess,” he mumbles, only just moving away from her.

Grasping onto his back, Shireen tries to return him to her mouth, wanting to steal more kisses from him. Nothing stops Rickon’s journey downward, and he digs his nose into her at every opportunity, making her whimper. She feels his smile against her hip as he slowly pulls her nightgown up, walking his fingers over the fabric to make it bunch up over her hips. Shireen is suddenly shy, feeling that is it far too private for anyone to witness, much less be so close to, but Rickon kisses her thighs and over her stomach. Relaxing under his touch, Shireen lets him spread open her legs, and she shivers when his breath hits her. Rickon chuckles, kneading his fingers into her thighs and wrapping his arms under her legs to hold her firmly in place.

Before Shireen can even think to question why his hold is so firm, she feels him. Rickon pulls the flat of his tongue directly over her, and Shireen shudders, lost in the sensation. His mouth is far warmer than the rest of him, and Shireen cannot believe how the feeling of him spreading moisture is. Despite all her jesting about his experiences bedding women, Shireen never expected him to be so thorough in giving back. It is impossible to stop the moans and whimpers spilling from her mouth. Rickon moves into her without abandon, finding every possible place to put his tongue and moving over her. By the time he focuses the movements on one spot, Shireen feels she is already lost. Her hips buck on their own accord, and Rickon smiles as he keeps going, pushing her far enough that her back is arching off the bed and she feels as if something inside of her is breaking. After Rickon’s last actions over her, she never expected anything to feel better. Now, she wonders how much more he can give. When she finally feels like she can take no more, her entire body is shaking slightly. She glances down to find Rickon smirking at her, resting against her legs.

Biting her lip, Shireen reaches out for him. With a playful smile, Rickon climbs over the length of her. He rests over her chest, holding her against him. Naked as he is, Shireen can feel him against her leg, and she fleetingly thinks of beddings, and how there is like to be nothing as intimate as this. With a small whine, Shireen grabs onto his ears, pulling him closer for a kiss. Rickon seems to be permanently smiling, even as she kisses him. They have slowed down much with the effort of other activities, and they are both breathing hard. Rickon seems almost incapable of holding himself up, and in his exhaustion he slumps over her. It only moves him closer to actually bedding her, and Shireen finds herself thinking far too seriously about it. 

Rickon eventually moves back to the bed, pulling the blankets up over her. He makes to climb out of them, but Shireen reaches for his waist. Holding him there, Rickon freezes. He watches her carefully, lifting a hand to stroke her hair.

“You need sleep,” she reminds him. “Or you’ll be tired on the morrow.”

“I’m not like to get much sleep with you in the bed,” Rickon says cheekily. “But it is such fun.”

Shireen blushes then, no longer concerned with what Rickon must think of her sensitivities. She simply decides that he must know the ramifications of his actions, particularly as she has made her position clear on taking a husband. She will not permit herself to be mistaken for his whore or his mistress should he wed, and giving herself pleasure by him only heightens the chances of anyone finding out.

“Rickon,” she starts slowly.

Though his eyes are closed, Rickon smirks. “ _Shireen_ ,” he says back.

A deeper blush spreads over her, and Shireen brushes her hands over him to gather her thoughts. Even with the words on the tip of her tongue, she balks. “Did you like it?”

“By far, the greatest experience,” Rickon says, looking down at her. He smiles, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. Then, his brow furrows. “Did you not?”

“I did,” Shireen says quickly, hoping she doesn’t sound too defensive. “I just… I never…”

Rickon’s smile grows again, and he leans back to the pillows. “Do not think too hard on it,” he says. “As long as you enjoy it, it need not mean anything.”

Somehow, the answer does little to satisfy her. Shireen takes it, though, carrying its various meanings in her mind as she lets sleep take her over.

 

 

For the next week, Shireen continues to invite Rickon closer. After night falls, they are familiar with each other, giving the other pleasure until they beg for release. Shireen thinks that it is a sort of dominance they're exerting, a play to see who holds the position of power in her bed, particularly since Shireen so obviously holds it in his court now that his council had been dismissed. She still spends each night dressed, allowing Rickon to fight her clothing to get at her. More amusing are their breif meetings during the day, when Shireen catches Rickon's eye across the courtyard or hall. Even though it is always at a great distance, Shireen knows he is looking at her the same way he does when he's between her legs.

Shireen does step away from the matter, though; urging Rickon to form a council of trustworthy lords and making his status clear with them. He struggles with the task; obviously still uncomfortable giving anyone any level of trust, but Shireen suggests that he speak with Lord Umber. Rickon does, if only because she suggested it, but Lord Umber soon proves to be helpful in gathering men with a history of loyalty to the Starks. In this matter, Rickon begins inviting men to Winterfell, and Shireen slowly recedes back to her rooms.

She needs Rickon to hold the power over his council and admitting her involvement would not be wise. As it is, Shireen also gets the worst bout of moonsickness she has ever had, and she spends as much of the day in bed as she can. No one would have noticed her absence if not for Rickon's habit of delivering her meals.

"Are you ill, princess?" he asks, placing a tray of food beside her.

Shireen groans, rolling over slightly to face him. "I have seen better days," she admits. "But I do not wish to move today."

She hears Rickon chuckle and resists the urge to glare at him for it. He walks around the bed with her food, placing it closer. He still smiles, though, and Shireen feels like slapping the look off his face had she the energy for it.

"I hope you feel better tonight," Rickon murmurs. "I have missed the taste of you."

Shireen blushes at the comment before understanding of his intentions hits her. She nearly gags at the thought, but settles her stomach and pushes the thought from her mind. Rickon leaves her to the meal, and Shireen picks at the food slowly, allowing herself to drift off several times before nightfall.

Pains keep her awake more than anything. The sun has long been set, and she has made few trips from her furs to clean herself up and open the windows should Rickon come. Though she would rather have warmth at the moment, she still finds herself worried for his comfort. Stifling moans, Shireen curls tight on her side as Rickon comes in.

"You don't look much better," he says, and she can hear the frown in his voice.

"Perhaps not for a few days more," Shireen tells him, thinking that he will understand her ailment soon.

It completely evades him. "Days? Should I call the maester?"

"No, I—it's my moonblood," Shireen says, talking to the wall.

Rickon climbs onto the bed slowly. Turning a bit, Shireen sees him frowning. "Your... are you with child?"

"No," Shireen says sharply, only to have the sound swallowed by a moan. She presses her hands more firmly to her stomach, hoping to just explain and have this be over with. "It's what makes a girl into a woman. It means she can carry a child, but she doesn't have one."

His brows furrow, as if it is a difficult concept for him to grasp. "And there's blood? How much? A gobletful?"

"It varies," Shireen says turning away from him. "But on a bad day, sometimes more."

Rickon sits up at that, and Shireen wishes he wouldn't rock the bed so much. "A day... how long does it last?"

"Only a few days, if I'm lucky."

"If not?"

"Several," Shireen says simply. She grasps fistfuls of the blankets, pressing those to her stomach and hoping to soothe the pain.

Rickon's curiosity isn't satiated, though. "Several days," he whispers. Shireen feels him lean over her. "How often?"

Shireen slumps down. "It's called _moon_ blood."

" _Every moon_?"

Shireen cannot even find it in her to be annoyed that Rickon has lived so long without knowing of moonblood. She doesn't even have it in her to jape at him for knowing nothing of the women he's bedded, or the chance that he's never seen it before. She just curls tighter around herself, hoping that the pain will subside so she can sleep. Rickon seems to notice her resignation, and he moves slowly, going to kiss her cheek.

"What makes it better?" he asks softly.

If not for the tone of his voice, Shireen would think him insincere. Already, she doesn't wish to tell him of the heat, knowing that he doesn't respond well to it. Still, she can't lie, not when it might benefit his future wife. "Usually, pressure and warmth," she whispers.

At the words, Rickon presses a hand to her stomach, pressing down on it. He presses gently around until Shireen relaxes. "Better?" Rickon asks.

Shireen nods slowly, not wanting to disrupt how wonderful he feels there. She thinks she might be able to fall asleep, but Rickon squirms before mumbling about an idea. The loss of his hand peeves her, but he scrambles off the bed, going to shut the window and light a fire, trapping in even more heat. He kneels down by her head when he finishes. "Better?" he asks again.

"I preferred your hand," Shireen mumbles, not bothering to hide the truth from him.

Rickon leans forward and gently kisses her mouth. "I can do better."

For a moment, Shireen think he'll settle over her, use her for a pillow, but he heads to the door instead. He opens it slightly and beckons Shaggydog in. Shireen doesn't get her hopes up. "He hates my room," she groans out.

"But he likes you," Rickon counters. With little effort, Rickon manages to coax the direwolf inside and bolts the door closed behind them. Settling into the sheets, he calls Shaggydog up. The direwolf steps up with surprising care, making sure not to step on either of them. Rickon slides Shireen a bit closer to the middle, giving Shaggydog space for his paws on both sides of her. Slowly, Shaggydog goes down over her, his snout between her breasts, and the low rumble of his neck directly over her stomach. The heat is immediate, and Shireen feels it almost overwhelming her. It is everywhere around her now that Shaggydog is over her.

Shireen lets out a heavy sigh, expecting sleep to come soon. She relaxes into her pillows, lifting her hands to stroke Shaggydog. He certainly deserves the attention now. "Thank you," Shireen whispers.

"Anything for you, princess," Rickon replies.

For the first time in their weeks of sharing a bed, Shireen wakes before Rickon to get out of bed. She feels incredibly dirty and gross from her moonblood, and if she doesn't clean off soon, she might go crazy. With quite some effort, she nudges out from Shaggydog's weight, not caring how her rooms have become overheated. Shireen quickly locates a clean scrap of cloth, replacing the one in her smallclothes and putting the dirtied one in a small basin of water. Despite how warm her rooms are, the water is freezing, and she tries to manage the job quickly.

"What are you doing, princess?"

Shireen jumps at Rickon's voice. She turns around quickly, finding him sitting up but looking as if the pull of sleep keeps him stuck. "I'm sorry for waking you," Shireen mumbles, uncertain if noise is acceptable so early. "I only just--"

Rickon frowns at her, leaning over to see behind her. "Are you washing?"

"I've no handmaidens," Shireen explains quickly, hoping to finish the task before her fingers freeze. "The... It's quite messy."

Silence fills the room for a moment, and Shireen covers it with the splashing of water as she cleans the cloth. Unfortunately, she hears Rickon shifting in the bed behind her. Shireen half-hopes that he is going back to sleep, but she recalls that he often wakes this early anyway. It seems absurd, since the sun has yet to rise. Still, she is consumed with embarrassment when he comes up to her shoulder and pulls the cloth from her hands.

"You're going to freeze," he says simply. "Head back to bed, princess."

"But it's..."

Rickon shrugs, pushing her back to the featherbed and pushing at Shaggydog until he moves for her. "I've dealt with blood before," he tells her. "Mine own and others'. Knowing who it belongs to makes it slightly more bearable."

Shireen bites her tongue, wanting to argue, to tell him that kings should never clean someone's moonblood. Rickon doesn't seem to care in the slightest. He pushes her into bed, covers her in blankets and furs, moves Shaggydog back over her stomach, and gives her a small kiss. Shireen cowers down. Never did she expect anyone to dote on her, particularly not her king, and especially not someone she was once betrothed to. She gives Rickon a weak smile, and he kisses her forehead.

"Since you are awake, though, is there something you'd like to eat?" Rickon asks. "Anything that will make it better?"

"Sweets," Shireen says immediately. Her face flushes and she turns away slightly.

Rickon chuckles at her. "Very well," he says simply. "Rest until then."

Though Shireen still thinks she should not leave him to care for her, she is not going to complain when he had always been a man of his word. Never has he once lied to her, and Shireen largely expects that something else is at work. She ignores it, knowing that nothing will ever come to fruition. She will remain unwed. She will be his Hand. And he will take another to wife.

Sighing, Shireen lets the rest come. It is easier this time, even as she strokes over Shaggydog's snout. Her sleep is restorative, and even though her moonblood won't be gone, she knows that the pain has passed. A smile appears on her face the second she turns. Rickon has left her a large tray of sweets in the spot he has claimed on her bed. Humming to herself, Shireen picks at them, biting slowly and finding that they are still warm. For a moment, she considers reconsidering her position on their marriage, but she knows that she cannot. Shireen keeps her name for the longevity of House Baratheon, with the smallest bit of hope that any bastard she has will be named Baratheon by Rickon’s word.


	7. Chapter 7

“Do you still wish to be called my betrothed?” Rickon asks her one day.

Shireen looks over to him confusedly. It is not often that they talk after pleasuring each other, and Shireen wonders if he simply is more active during the small hours of the night. Rickon looks sleepy, though. His eyelids droop down, and he looks ready to sleep, little as he does during their nights together. He furrows his brow, moving deeper into the blankets.

“I know you have no wish to marry, and I won’t ask it of you,” Rickon clarifies. “But I’m to hold a council meeting with the new men, and I’d like you to sit as my Hand. If not, the pretense of a betrothal should be enough to stop the Northmen from doubting your position.”

“Oh, won’t they be mad?” Shireen asks. Honestly, she isn’t sure if she wants to abandon the title of his intended. Rickon’s loud proclamations of their betrothal and his dissolution of his council have kept women from seeking his company, and Shireen would rather not give them cause to seek him out again. She rather enjoys having him to herself every night, even if they spend the occasional night only sleeping.

Rickon shrugs lightly. “I don’t care,” he mumbles. “You have to stay safe, though, and I’d prefer to have something of your status known.”

“Well, _betrothed_ does suit us,” Shireen muses, “if only because of these small interactions.”

“Small?” Rickon questions. “Have I not done enough?”

Shireen scoffs. “You’ve bedded other women,” she points out. “I rather think this would be small in comparison.”

“You enjoy it,” Rickon says slowly, rolling his eyes. His pulls her closer, pressing his mouth to her neck.

“I do,” Shireen murmurs. She turns slightly in his arms, giving him better purchase on her neck. She feels his teeth scrape against her skin before he starts sucking on a spot, keeping a constant pressure there. The sensation is much stronger than his kisses there, and Shireen feels like dragging him closer. She moans softly, and Rickon nips her skin gently.

He moves down to suck at another spot. “Betrothed, then?” he asks, licking over her neck. “And I’ll give you the title whenever I happen to take another wife?”

Shireen frowns at the thought, not wanting to think that Rickon already has plans to seek other women. Her mood is soured knowing that he’s like to give them the same pleasure as her, and she feels the need to remind him that he has her, that no one else is welcome to him. Fleetingly, she wonders if she will ever be ready to give him to another, but she pushes the thought away. Shireen allows her body to respond naturally to his actions, and she moves into him. Her back is against his chest, and Rickon wraps his arms around her keeping her close. Shireen rolls her hips back into his, and Rickon immediately grips onto her waist, holding her away.

“I thought I needed to sleep?” he asks her.

“Yet you keep talking,” Shireen mumbles back. She digs herself deeper into her pillows, moving as much as possible.

Rickon chuckles, his body pressing back against hers. He kisses at her ear, moving over her greyscale, and then he buries his nose in her hair, taking a deep breath before allowing it to even out.

Sleep becomes more difficult for Shireen as the weeks pass. She has willingly shared her bed with Rickon for the past two moons, and they have quickly become more and more intimate with each other. Shireen wonders if she should ever draw a line with him, create a barrier that he cannot pass. It is only in moments like these that she thinks on it, though. Every moment she spends apart from him, she simply longs for his return. Every time he kisses her, her mind goes blank. None of this seems to matter until after they have each other, and Shireen wonders if creating boundaries would be worth it. She is incredibly curious as to what else Rickon has to offer. Her mind has gone so far as to think of bedding him when they will never be wed, and Shireen wonders if she can live with such a breach in propriety. 

Sighing, Shireen wills her mind blank. She turns into Rickon, pressing against his chest and hoping that he can make her forget everything again. As if reading her thoughts, Rickon pulls her closer, and he presses his lips to her forehead lazily. The pressure of him relaxes her, and Shireen again finds that sleep is easier when she is close to him. Hugging him tight, Shireen tries to convince herself that nothing else matters. If she has no obligation to be wed, there is no reason for her to stop herself from taking her pleasure. And if she is to take her pleasure, it won’t matter who gives it to her. At least she has found an inkling of comfort in this wild King of the North.

 

 

Shireen almost feels like reconstructing her thoughts regarding Rickon the next morning. She is lucky that she bothered to look in a mirror after dressing. His two spots of fascination and attention last night have manifested into bruises on her skin, leaving very obvious marks over her neck. With some annoyance, Shireen digs out a dress with a higher collar, hoping to keep them covered. Concealing them as best she can, Shireen finally leaves for the day.

Paranoia never leaves her. Shireen spends the whole day tugging her collar up, and she is even more nervous when she remembers that Rickon asked her to the council meeting that day. She briefly considers not going. It would only serve to annoy Rickon in return, but he is more likely to worry for her anyway. Instead, Shireen chooses to take Shaggydog with her to the meeting. She knows that he’ll respond quickly enough should anyone notice the strange pattern of bruising on her neck, and she still wonders what Rickon has decided for her title.

The hall has been prepared for a small council, no more than seven seats around the table. A few men are already seated, including Rickon, but he stands quickly as she approaches.

“My intended,” Rickon says simply, taking her hand and guiding her over to the seat at his side. “This is Shireen Baratheon.”

Shireen nearly blushes at hearing her full name spoken again. She gives the men at the table a small nod, taking a seat. Shaggydog manages to curl up at her side, placing his head in her lap. Shireen tugs gently at her collar, bringing her hair forward to cover her neck as much as possible.

“Princess,” Rickon continues, gesturing to the men. “This is Greatjon Umber. He served in Robb’s army and survived as a captive. Robett Glover—”

“You declared for my father,” Shireen blurts out. She looks over to the man at his side. “As did you, Lord Tallhart.”

“Aye, my lady,” the lord replies. “Your father was a great man. The seven kingdoms are at a loss without him.”

Shireen gives him a small smile, looking down to her skirts. Rickon squeezes her hand gently, directing her to the last man at the table.

“And Lord Sigorn of House Thenn,” he tells her.

In all her studies, Shireen has never heard of his house, and she cocks her head to the side in confusion.

“He was wed to Alys Karstark,” Rickon supplies, giving the man a small nod. “He even chose the lordship over staying a free man.”

Lord Thenn laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Not all free men are free,” he says simply.

Shireen recalls the history now, remembers Alys Karstark’s position of inheritance. “Your wife is with child.”

“Aye,” Lord Thenn says, grinning at her. “Our third.”

“Congratulations,” she tells him. It is a bit unusual to see such a large smile on a man who could easily appear terrifying. He seems utterly infatuated with his wife, and Shireen decides she likes the man. She resolves to ask Rickon to send him back for the birth of his child. 

For the rest of the council meeting, Shireen sits calmly, only commenting where she needs to and allowing Rickon to give out every order he needs to. For too much of the meeting, Shireen is preoccupied with her dress, rubbing at her neck and adjusting her collar. The men only give her a moderate amount of attention, preferring to ask Rickon things even though he often directs the questions at her. All in all, the meeting goes well, and Shireen feels that Rickon finally has a council he can trust. When he dismisses the men, Shireen gently places a hand on his leg, keeping it out of sight of the other lords. Rickon freezes, staying seated until the hall is clear.

“Do you need something, princess?” he asks, turning towards her.

Shireen means to snap at him for making marks on her neck, but another thought has been picking at her. “There was an extra chair,” she says simply. “Who didn’t come?”

Rickon frowns. “I sent word to the Mormonts,” he tells her, “but they only have women to send, and I didn’t want to worry you again.”

“I believe your council is more important than my worries,” Shireen says. She leans forward onto the table, resting on her arm and looking over at him.

“I don’t,” Rickon says. He gives her a small smile. Shireen feels a rush of heat in her face, but she ignores it. While she shakes herself, Rickon recovers and stands. “But I could ask the Mormonts for someone. Is that all you were concerned about?”

Shireen stands beside him, facing away and wondering how to tell him of the bruises on her neck. She swallows hard trying to compose herself. “Perhaps you could also watch your actions better,” she suggests, meeting his gaze.

Rickon raises his eyebrows at her, and Shireen pulls her collar to the side to show him. He smiles, which annoys her, but he lifts a hand to rub his thumb over her neck. Shireen tries to maintain her demeanor, narrowing her eyes at him. Rickon chuckles and leans forward to press chaste kisses to her bruises. “Apologies, princess,” he mumbles. “I am endlessly fascinated by your skin.”

Her breath catches in her throat, particularly as he doesn’t stop. It is the first time Rickon shows her any affection outside of her bedchambers, and Shireen can’t help but feel that someone will find them. Rickon is entirely undeterred, pulling her close and moving his mouth over the exposed skin of her neck. He steps in to her, trapping her against the table, and his hands start roaming her body. He traces over her waist slowly before bringing his mouth to hers and kissing her fully. Shireen moans lightly into the kiss, her heart pounding from the thought of someone finding them. Still she doesn’t want to move away from him.

It takes far too long for Shireen to realize he has untied her dress. The press of his hand dragging over her shift draws her to it, and she breaks their kiss to push him away. Rickon laughs against her mouth, pulling his hands away. He slowly finds the ties of her dress again, knotting them for her and smoothing out her gown.

Shireen clears her throat gently, trying to reorganize her thoughts. “I hope to find no more surprises,” she mutters. “At least not where others can see them.”

“I will take caution,” Rickon tells her. He pulls her close for another kiss, rougher and more heated this time. The pressure of him soothes her, and Shireen kisses him back, deepening their kiss. His hands dig into her hair, holding her against him. After a long while, he breaks the kiss, even though he doesn’t move far away from her. “Can I see you tonight, princess?”

“Where else would you sleep?” Shireen asks back.

“I wouldn’t,” Rickon admits. “Though, you keep me from it as well.”

Shireen grins at him, stretching forward to kiss him again. “We will sleep, then,” Shireen says. She recognizes that she is becoming far too familiar with Rickon, that she shouldn’t encourage him to be with her outside her rooms, that she can’t have him with any sort of permanence. Sighing, Shireen pushes him away gently, trying to give him a smile. Rickon returns the smile, kissing her forehead gently before walking from the hall.

Leaning against the table, Shireen tries to clear her head. She already knows the parameters she set with Rickon. They have a clear agreement about what their futures will hold. With some resignation, Shireen decides that she will simply take whatever it is she can. There is no reason for her to expect anything else from Rickon, particularly as he has given her anything she’s asked for. They have no attachment to each other beyond the physical, and Shireen will not throw further question into their arrangement.

She finds herself distancing from Rickon because of this. The next few nights, Shireen pretends to be asleep before Rickon comes to her rooms. While she still hears his slow movements of preparing for bed, she finds that she cannot make herself any closer to him. It becomes torturous for her, especially when she feels Rickon constantly moving, trying to decide if he should go under the blankets with her. Then, Rickon reaches for her, shifting the sheets as he pulls away. His fingertips lightly brush her back and her shoulders. After a long minute of it, Rickon props himself up on an elbow and leans over her. He kisses her greyscale, hugging her softly. Resting back on the featherbed, Rickon squirms against her pillows before placing an arm over her waist.

Trying to keep her movements natural, Shireen rolls into him. If anything, she should allow herself this small comfort. They have survived wars, traveled the harshest seas, and suffered too much at the hands of others. Denying themselves their wants when so much has been decided for them seems silly. If having each other is the only decision they will make for themselves, there is no reason for Shireen to keep herself from him.

Rickon’s arms tighten around her, pulling her flush against his chest. Shireen brushes her hands over his back, breathing him in and finally relaxing. If this is what coming to terms with her decision means, then she fully intends to make the most of it. Though Rickon is completely asleep, Shireen presses a light kiss to his lips, feeling the scratchy stubble of his beard that’s started to grow in again. Rickon rubs his face against her, a small smile on his lips. Shireen bows away from the scratch of his beard, contenting herself in his warm embrace.

Again, Rickon seems to be continually testing her. He suddenly vanishes from Winterfell for the next three days, and Shireen has a hard time blaming anyone but herself for being so cold to him. She spends a majority of her time wondering if she has unintentionally pushed him into the arms of another. No one else questions his disappearance, though. The council doesn’t ask her about it, even though Lyanna Mormont returns again to absolutely no reception. Shireen doesn’t even bother to step in to greet her. Instead, she wanders the godswood alone, thinking that for the first time she awaits Rickon’s return more than Shaggydog’s.

However, on the night he returns, Shireen cannot find it in her to seek him out. She intentionally avoids Rickon, trying to reason out a way to be with him again when she assumes the worst of his disappearance. Because of her intense indecision, Shireen finds herself in bed early. She left the window open, though, knowing that a part of her longs desperately for his return. Bundling up under the blankets, Shireen expects that Rickon will come late if he comes at all.

Shireen is entirely surprised when her door opens shortly after she has settled. She hears Rickon groan loudly, and her heart starts pounding. Peeling her ears, Shireen listens to the fall of his clothes. Then, she feels the heavy dip of her bed where Rickon has taken a seat. The moment stretches in the silence, and Shireen finds herself overwhelmed with anticipation. Finally, she realizes that she can’t make him think so little of her, particularly when she knows that she wants him, that she will let him have her in the fullest capacity.

With a small sound, Shireen rolls over to face him. Rickon turns to her slowly, a tired smile on his face. He blinks slowly, and Shireen can see the wear in him. Returning the smile, Shireen pulls down the blankets, inviting him in. Nodding to himself a few times, Rickon moves closer, sliding down next to her. Shireen covers them up quickly, trapping in the heat and wrapping her arms around him. Rickon returns the gesture, burying his nose in her hair.

“I missed you,” Shireen admits. She squeezes him tight and glances up to his face. He looks younger somehow, but he still seems exhausted. Lifting a hand to his jaw, Shireen finds that he has shaven, and that is what makes him look so different.

Rickon’s mouth turns down into a frown, and he grabs onto her hand. His eyes slowly flutter open as he presses her fingers to his mouth. “I’m sorry, princess,” he mutters. “I had to see to the wildlings on the Gift. They need counsel as well, though Osha spent all her time trying to clean my chin.”

Shireen feels herself deflate a bit. Still, he speaks of this other woman, and Shireen wonders if he left for her company. Pushing it from her mind, Shireen tries to remind herself that it doesn’t matter. He came back to her bedchambers, and if he wants her simply for pleasure, she will still gladly give herself to him. Lost in her own thoughts, Shireen almost doesn’t notice that he’s holding her face in his hands, stroking her greyscale and bringing their lips together for a kiss. Then, Shireen is lost again. Rickon is far gentler than he has ever been with her, and Shireen has a hard time deciding if she likes it better than his kisses that are fueled with fire.

Only when he pulls away does she realize that it’s because he’s so tired. Rickon immediately slumps into the pillows, even though his thumbs still lazily brush over her cheeks. He kisses her again, slower than before. This time, Shireen pulls away.

“You need your rest, my lord,” she tells him.

Rickon looks annoyed that she pointed it out. He pulls her close again, rubbing his face against hers. “But I want you,” he mumbles.

Shireen finds a smile on her face, but she still pushes him back to the pillows. Sitting up slightly, Shireen drags her hands over him. They trace over a few of the scars on his stomach before she unties his breeches and takes him in her hand. Leaning over him, Shireen presses a quick kiss to his lips. 

“You have me,” she whispers, stroking over him slowly. Rickon melts under her touch, falling further back into the pillows. He weakly reaches for her face again, brushing over her greyscale before his hand falls to the featherbed. Smiling to herself, Shireen focuses back on her task. She moves over him until his eyes flutter closed. Then, she bends over him, running her tongue over the length of him and eliciting a soft groan from Rickon. She edges her way over him slowly, taking him into her mouth bit by bit. Moving slowly, Shireen brushes her hair over her shoulder, giving herself better access to truly get at him.

She is surprised at her own gumption to give Rickon pleasure, but she finds that it is easier than she expects. After rationalizing it to herself over and over again, Shireen allows herself to be entirely lost in him. After all, they are both long past the traditional ages of marriage, a woman and man, and they should be allowed their pleasure. She is entirely capable of deciding whether she can share herself, and Rickon is an attentive partner. With renewed vigor, Shireen moves over him, increasing her pace until he spills into her mouth. Shireen expects it this time, lapping him up and swallowing.

Glancing up, Shireen sees that Rickon is breathing hard. His stomach moves with the effort of his breaths, and Shireen finds the sight of him pleasing. Again, Rickon drags her over him. His arms pull her in tight, and he kisses her quickly, though it is deep and rough. His hands tangle in her hair, and Shireen can feel his energy draining.

“I—I can…” he sputters out, still holding her close.

“You need to rest,” Shireen reminds him. She sweeps her hands over his shoulders, tucking herself into the space provided between his arm and his side. 

Rickon grumbles at that, turning onto his side. He bows his head into hers, pressing his lips to her forehead. “The night is still young.”

“More time for you to sleep,” Shireen says. She settles her hand on his shoulder, rubbing over an old scar her thumb finds. Rickon refuses to settle, though, so Shireen distracts him from getting at her by tracing the scar on his upper arm. “Are they all from the war?”

Rickon shakes his head, squirming a bit to become level with her. “No,” he says simply, yawning. “Not that one—that one nearly killed me.”

“How?” Shireen asks, meeting his eyes.

“I was young,” he tells her. Rickon pauses, closing his eyes for a long time. “The Skagosi fight to determine their worth—their power—and I needed to prove myself for a place in their keep before I declared myself their liege lord. Free folk won’t bow to declared titles, no matter how true they are. I fought their men, nearly dying from the wound.”

“How did you survive?” Shireen asks.

Rickon meets her eyes again, half-drooped eyelids stopping her from seeing the bright green of them. “Shaggydog saved me.” Digging his head further into the pillow, Rickon holds her against him. “The Skagosi recognized a direwolf, and they knew who I was after that. Shaggydog took me to the keep, and Osha tended to me until I was better.”

Shireen feels the name like another stab to her heart. Even after giving him pleasure, he still speaks of the woman he would rather be with. Biting her lip, Shireen tries to think of a way to ask Rickon about it, to set her mind at ease and rid her of this jealousy. But when she opens her mouth, she finds that Rickon has already fallen asleep. He rests peacefully against her, his breaths long and even. Shireen cannot prevent his rest, particularly for something as trivial as soothing her worries.

Instead, she contents herself with this: that he is in her bed, that he holds her as he sleeps, and that he pulls her closer even as he sleeps. Shireen sighs into his neck, taking the comforts she can. Pushing herself up slightly, she kisses his scar before she settles back into his arms. Rickon hugs her closer, and Shireen allows sleep to come.


	8. Chapter 8

Life in Winterfell quickly finds a new pace with Rickon’s return. Shireen is now completely accustomed to his absences in the morning, dressing herself quickly before walking the grounds with Shaggydog. She now finds that the harsh looks toward her greyscale are fewer, but she still has no comfort with any aspect of her life other than Rickon. With the onset of spring, Shireen finds that Winterfell is only marginally more comfortable. She still thinks her rooms are preferable to anywhere else in the castle, but she starts to find that the castle is tolerable. This is particularly true when Rickon sneaks her away from prying eyes and kisses her against a wall. He has no regard for being caught, pressing into her as much as possible and assuring her that Shaggydog will keep everyone away. Though Shireen tries to protest, her mind goes blank when he lifts her up, pinning her against the wall.

Rickon spends little time letting his hands wander, but he still manages to untie her dress at every opportunity, pressing their bodies as close together as possible. All thought of questioning him flees Shireen’s mind as his palms knead at her breasts. Instead, she digs her fingers into his curls drawing him into a deeper kiss.

Despite his obvious desires to have her simply for pleasure, Shireen notices that he never leaves her prematurely. Every time he sneaks her off, he ties her dress back up for her, smooths down the fabric of her gown, and combs her hair back into place. Shireen appreciates the gesture, but she is annoyed that she is the always the one left in a disheveled state. 

In retaliation, Shireen waits for a day when he is in conversation with another lord to call him away. Rickon makes his excuses, following her into a secluded hallway of the keep. Throwing all of her faith into Shaggydog’s protectiveness, Shireen pushes Rickon against a wall and kisses him fiercely. He returns the kiss, laughing when she breaks it.

“Are you so eager to have me, princess?” he asks, brushing her hair over her ear.

Shireen tries her best to tease him, wanting him to become undone by her hand. “I enjoy having you,” she says simply. Trailing her hands down his chest, Shireen plays with the ties of his breeches before pulling them apart. She edges his clothes off only just far enough to pull him out, making him shudder. “Though, I was hoping for something else as well…”

Rickon smirks at her, leaning forward to capture her lips quickly. “I would never keep you from your hopes, princess,” he says. He nips at her lips again, but his cockiness vanishes when she starts stroking over him. Rickon sputters out an incoherent sound, and Shireen shushes him.

“Quiet, my lord,” she warns. Slowly, Shireen bends at her knees. She is surely tangled in the mess of her skirts, but she ignores it to properly situate herself before him and take him in her mouth. Rickon sucks in a sharp breath, and Shireen finds herself smirking when she sees his fingers futilely trying to find purchase on the stone walls. Sliding her hands up, Shireen holds him by the hips, moving over him slowly for a short time before picking up speed, sucking and pulling at him as much as possible. After all, she said their meeting would be short. It doesn’t take long for Rickon to start trying to thrust into her, but Shireen holds him back, refusing him any amount of credit for this. Shireen moves over him thoroughly, knowing him well enough by now to bring him to climax quickly. With a strangled gasp, Rickon spills into her mouth, and Shireen slowly runs her tongue over him to clean him off. Then, she puts him back together, pulling on his clothes and tying up his breeches.

Shireen sits back on her heels, watching Rickon trying to catch his breath. His head is pressed hard against the stone wall behind him, and he still seems to be trying to dig his hands into the walls. She can hear his breaths slowing, becoming even. After a long time, Rickon’s eyes blink open, and he hangs his head to look down at her. He has a lazy smile on his face, and he bends down before her. Shireen expects the kiss, particularly after all the times she has used her mouth to bring him pleasure. However, she is entirely unprepared for Rickon to lift her completely. He drags her back to full height, walking her across the hall and into another wall, only just cushioning her head from colliding with the hard stone. Then, his lips are pressed against hers, pushing her as far back as he can to deepen the kiss.

Rickon sinks down with her, placing her on her feet before making his way to her neck. He kisses her repeatedly, never staying too long in one place. Shireen holds him gently, wondering if she should remind him of the man he left. When he starts pulling up her skirts, Shireen realizes that he has no intentions to return anytime soon. “Haven’t you other matters to tend to?” she asks.

His fingers dig into her thighs, and he looks up to meet her gaze. “There is a very important matter I must see to first,” he says. With a quick peck against her lips, Rickon goes to his knees. With little pomp and circumstance, Rickon throws her skirts over his head, digging his nose between her thighs. Shireen gasps, losing her balance as he spreads her legs apart. Rickon braces her legs over his arms, his hands resting on her back. Shireen is entirely sitting over his arms, and she thinks she’ll fall for a brief moment before she finds that she can’t think at all. Rickon has somehow managed to move her smallclothes out of the way, and he licks over her slowly. Her breath catches in the back of her throat. Rickon’s tongue moves over her in the most unpredictable patterns, keeping her filled to the brim with anticipation.

Even as many times as Rickon has given her this pleasure, Shireen finds herself completely lost in his actions. She isn’t sure how she manages to stay upright, given how incapable she is of holding her own weight. Somehow, Rickon still seems to know her better than she knows herself, pressing into her until she finds herself completely weak in his arms. Rickon sets her down gently before emerging from her skirts with a satisfied look on his face.

“I daresay you need to keep quiet as well, princess,” he tells her, almost completely smug.

Shireen feels her face go red. “Did I—?”

Rickon grins at her, leaning into her until he kisses her. “At least I don’t have to ask if you enjoyed it,” he mutters.

Giving him a shy look, Shireen tries to hide in her hands. Rickon pulls them away to kiss her again. Hugging her to his chest, Rickon stands, placing her on slightly shaking feet. Shireen holds onto his shoulders for a moment longer, trying to regain her composure. Rickon rubs her back gently, giving her time until she takes a small step away.

“I’m afraid I’m keeping you from your duties,” she murmurs.

“I thought keeping the Baratheon princess content _was_ my duty,” Rickon replies.

Shireen’s mouth opens to reply, but she cannot grasp at a response. She wants him more than ever, never to leave her bedchambers, and she finds herself aching for him. With all the courage she can muster, Shireen steps further away. She wishes him a good day, making some excuse about finding something to tend to.

Again, her decision from before is at the forefront of her mind. She has spent weeks seeking Rickon out, trying to simply enjoy the time they spend sneaking away from the household to get at each other. Shireen has allowed herself this pleasure, sought it out even. The terms of their agreement stay in her thoughts, though. She knows that she won’t marry Rickon, that they’ve already agreed to break their betrothal. Wanting to take pleasure in each other was never discussed, never even thought of by her before she started trying to steal kisses from him.

More times than she’d be willing to admit, Shireen has thought of bedding him, of being with him as a husband and wife are. She wonders if Rickon thinks the same of her, if he’d even consider it as intimate. Given his potential for numerous partners in the past, Shireen wonders if Rickon could ever settle with one woman, if he even does so now. Regardless of how much time they spend together, Rickon still has enough time away from her to find other women. Surely a man as attractive as him has no issue finding willing participants at any hour of the day. Shireen was almost willing to become one herself.

The thought of him wedding another peeves her, though. Shireen has already come to terms with his taking another to wife, but she worries about giving her maidenhead to him simply because she is charmed by him. Even knowing that he will end up with another, Shireen considers it far more than she should. She knows that nothing will come of their encounters, but she cannot help the longing in her to truly be with him.

Instead of allowing herself to be consumed by her thoughts, Shireen resolves to ask Rickon and simply put her mind at ease regarding the matter. She spends the entire day trying to find a way to ask Rickon about it. Shireen doesn’t want to offend him, but she doesn’t know exactly what will put her mind at ease. So consumed as she is with her thoughts, Shireen’s distraction is obvious to Rickon that night. He kisses her a few times before rolling over to look at her, his eyebrows knitted.

“Princess?” he calls. “Is something on your mind?”

Shireen spares him a glance, trying to collect her courage. Meeting his gaze, she tries to keep her voice steady. “How many women have you bedded?”

The moment lasts too long for her to be comfortable, and she wants to retract her question even though she wants the answer. Finally, Rickon frowns, staring up at the ceiling. “Do you truly wish to know?”

“I—yes,” Shireen decides, thinking she must if she is to ever consider Rickon anything but a fleeting relationship. Even if she is not bound to marry him, they are like to both live in Winterfell together. Shireen has already fought with the idea of him taking another to wife, but she hopes that this would make her accept it better.

“Would you understand?” Rickon asks back. He glances down at her, furrowing his brow. “It's... Skagos was different.”

Huffing out a small breath of air, Shireen crosses her arms at him. “I will never understand if you don't tell me.”

With an odd look on his face, Rickon sits up. He slumps a bit, staring at his hands. “On Skagos... the becoming of a man is quite sudden,” he starts. “Hm... To kill someone with intent signals that you are ready to be a man, to make your own decisions, live on your own. But the Skagosi also see women as trophies. Bedding many makes you a stronger man—more powerful. As a Stark _and_ their liege lord, not doing so while not taking a wife meant that I wasn't worthy of being a man or having their respect, especially since I killed so young.”

Shireen blinks at him. It is difficult for her to imagine a culture so foreign and strange, but she truly makes the effort. “Who did you kill?”

“A turncloak of the Night's Watch.” Rickon shrugs. “After I knew who he was and how my father respected vows, I couldn't leave him alive. In doing so, I needed to prove myself, though. Skagosi would not accept me as a man otherwise.”

“Who did you bed?” she asks. Shireen swallows hard, wondering if she'll like the answer.

Rickon looks evenly at her before staring back at his hands. “Anyone who came,” he admits. His face flushes, even in the low light. “It is... it was... I liked it. The women came. I didn't turn them away. But I didn't realize they all wanted a child... _my_ child. They wanted a claim to Winterfell.”

The look on Rickon's face turns almost completely red with embarrassment and he is ashamed at his admission. He looks so lost in his past that Shireen reaches for his hand, pulling him back.

“I didn't even think to make certain myself,” he says with a sigh. “Another did... all the women were given moon tea, and Winterfell is safe from false claims. I was told to take a wife because I could have bastards after, but I didn't want it... None of the women ever truly cared for me. Just my title.”

Rickon gives her a sad smile, looking up briefly. He looks out the window for a long time. “I swore I'd never be wed,” he murmurs. “But I suppose I must take a wife eventually...”

Shireen gives him a confused look. “Why?”

“I need heirs,” he says, “to pass down the Stark name...”

“Oh,” Shireen mumbles. In all her joy from just having Rickon, she forgot that he still must think on the future of his bloodline. Already, the Starks have lost nearly all of their name. As it is, Shireen is incapable of giving her own name, and staying unwed is simply a way to keep House Baratheon alive longer. “When will you take a wife?”

Rickon shrugs. “When it is forced of me,” he says simply. “I have no need to look.”

“But you'll share a bed with her,” Shireen says, “And produce many heirs...”

“She will never taste as sweet as you,” Rickon says. He leans over slowly, pressing a kiss to her greyscale. With a slow motion, he moves to her mouth. “I don't wish for a wife. You don't wish for a husband. We are suited for each other's pleasure.”

“Won't your wife be mad?” Shireen asks, placing a hand on his shoulder and stopping his advance.

Rickon scoffs, grabbing onto her waist and pulling her close. “I'm a king,” Rickon reminds her. “I can bed who I wish.”

“But if I carry your bastards?” Shireen asks, hoping that he realizes her concern.

Rickon closes the distance between them, kissing her lightly. “I can fetch you moon tea as well, princess,” he offers. “It'll stop a child from growing in your belly.”

The allure of it is almost too much. Shireen has been longing for Rickon, waiting for him to claim her, for weeks. She wonders if she could deny him otherwise. With everything he's been through, she expects him to shy away, but he is only just not touching her, and Shireen cannot hold herself from him when he is so willing and offering more than she ever dreamed of. She can finally experience a bedding without fear of a child, or a loveless marriage, and Rickon cares enough to keep her happy. It is a wonder she has yet to be completely lost to him.

Rickon presses into her, dragging his nose against her neck and kissing her at odd intervals. Shireen hums, stretching up to give him purchase and Rickon complies. He takes his time moving over her, getting her lost again, before returning to her mouth and pushing her back slightly. Almost forcefully, as if spurred on by another desire, Rickon grabs onto the hem of her nightgown. He pulls it up her body quickly to give his hands access to more of her. Never does he stop his kiss, and his hands join the mission of questing over her skin, palming and kneading and dragging over her thighs, up to her waist, around to her back, over her shoulders, and lightly grazing her breasts.

Gasping, Shireen pushes back into him, moving as close as she can. Kissing him back fiercely, she forces her breasts into his hands. Rickon chuckles briefly, but the rough calluses of his hands scrape against her, making her moan. Squeezing at her, Rickon starts kissing his way down, being stopped by the nightgown that is bunched up above her breasts. With a small growl, Rickon fists his hands into it, pulling it from her completely and tossing it across the room. Rickon grabs onto her firmly, pulling her closer before pushing her onto her back. Shireen goes willingly, breathlessly, falling back to the pillows only wanting more.

If having him take her maidenhead is anything like everything else he has given to her, she wonders if she will ever truly be capable of watching him take another. Still, Shireen has little room in her mind for anything but their current situation, particularly as Rickon looks at her with obvious desire in his eyes. As if taunting her, Rickon moves slowly, dipping his head down to her belly and running his tongue up between her breasts. She finds that she cannot hope to keep her breath even, and Rickon ruins any hope of that when he takes her breast in his mouth.

Shireen moans loudly, making Rickon shush her through a laugh. He smiles easily, and Shireen sighs as he makes his way over her again. His tongue traces the outline of her breast while his hand kneads at the other, and he taunts her endlessly by lightly flicking his tongue over her nipple before pressing down into her breast, covering her with his mouth as he keeps his tongue moving over her. Grabbing onto his hair, Shireen pulls him closer, desperate for the friction, for the feeling of him to completely consume her. Glancing down, Shireen finds Rickon with a satisfied smirk on his face. With light fingers, he traces her nipples before repeating the administrations on her other breast. Shireen’s hand slides down his back, and she scrapes her nails gently down his spine.

Rickon shudders, moving up to kiss her neck. With a rough movement, he swipes her hair away, dragging his teeth over her jugular. Shireen grabs him by the ears, forcing their mouths together again. Though Shireen can feel his body moving with a chuckle, he kisses her harder and deeper than before. His tongue dominates her mouth, and the heat building in Shireen is overwhelming. As quickly as she can, Shireen moves her hands between them, pulling at the laces of his breeches. A low growl leaves Rickon, but he lifts his body enough so she can pull the remaining clothes off him.

When he goes back over her, Shireen can feel his cock pressed up hard against her, and she struggles to choke back the gasp that leaves her. Even through her smallclothes, she can feel him there. It is a joy to know that he wants her so much, and she wraps her legs around him. Then, she pulls him back to kiss him again. Rickon smirks at her, rocking his hips forward to rub against her. Shireen moans loudly, shifting her hips to give him more purchase even though the fabric stops his pursuit. She tries a few more times before becoming immensely frustrated. Shoving Rickon over, Shireen pulls her smallclothes off quickly, retreating back into his arms as soon as possible. Though Rickon laughs at her, he resumes kissing her soon enough. With nothing between them, Shireen can feel every moment of his body as his moves against her, and the press of him against her leg makes her burn with want for him.

It isn’t until Rickon rolls her onto her back that the magnitude of the situation hits her. She has encouraged Rickon to bed her, wanted it even, and they are mere moments from the loss of her maidenhead. Shireen swallows hard, looking at Rickon during their brief reprieve. Noticing her behavior, Rickon slows down. He puts a hand between her legs, rubbing at her.

“I need not take your maidenhead should you wish it,” he murmurs, kissing her cheek.

Shireen swallows again, seeing the softness in his gaze even though a glance down proves how much he wants her. Tightening her resolve, Shireen reaches down, wrapping her hand firmly around him. She feels too shy for words, but she beckons him closer. With a smile, Rickon follows her, kissing her gently. Before she can get him near enough, his fingers are in her again. It only serves to make the ache build in her, and she freezes, letting him stretch her out and bring her pleasure. There is a brief moment when his hand leaves her, and Rickon kisses her deeply as he rocks his hips forward and slides into her. Shireen is surprised at how little her body resists him, having heard of the pain from beddings for most of her life. It is a relief to have him in her, though, and she feels full of him. 

Rickon’s eyes are screwed shut, and he rests his head against her shoulder with firm pressure. She feels one of his hands tighten on her ribs and the other brushes her hair back. The desire to move is building in her, and she wonders what Rickon is waiting for. He takes a deep, shaking breath in as he moves up to look at her.

“Are you okay, princess?” he asks. There’s the smallest hint of worry in his eyes.

Shireen frowns at him, wondering how he can ask a thing when she is absolutely consumed by the pleasure in her and the desire to move. In response to him, Shireen rolls her hips up. Rickon seems to choke on a breath, and he grasps onto her hip firmly. With a smirk, Rickon moves out of her slowly. It is far enough that Shireen almost begs him back, but he never leaves her. He simply pushes back into her firmly, and Shireen gasps loudly. Completely awash in the sensation, Shireen moves with him, anticipating the pattern of movement now. Rickon continues on, quickly increasing his speed until he is driving into her at a fast, steady pace.

Trying to keep herself steady, Shireen reaches back for the headboard of her bed. Still her body rocks with Rickon’s movement, but he seems desperate to get even more at her. He grasps her leg behind the knee, hooking it up over his arm and pounding into her harder and faster. In his effort, he grunts loudly, and Shireen tries to help, grinding against him. Instead of finding purchase elsewhere, she grabs onto him, digging her nails into his back as he presses on, building up the pressure in her. 

Somewhere in all the build-up of all the sensations, Shireen feels her body reacting of its own accord. She can feel herself tightening around Rickon as he moves, and Rickon responds to it, groaning loudly. Shireen feels weak from the exertion of energy, and as much as she wants to continue, she also feels incapable of moving. With heavy breaths, Shireen slumps back into her bed, and Rickon slowly leaves her. He smirks at her, moving up to kiss her roughly.

“Too much?” he asks.

“Oh, no,” Shireen says quickly. She slides her hands around his neck, toying with his hair. “I only just—I never—”

Rickon chuckles lightly, sliding off the bed and pouring a cup of water. He comes back slowly, sitting down beside her and handing her the cup. Shireen takes it, drinking deeply and feeling utterly refreshed. When she sets the cup down, she turns to Rickon slowly, wondering how to breech any conversation now that he has bedded her. However, Shireen finds that he has taken himself in hand, and she swallows hard.

“Did I not—?” she starts, wondering how to ask about how sufficient she was.

Shaking his head roughly, Rickon turns to her, kissing her deeply. “I thought you’d prefer it that way,” he tells her. “Most women do, and I thought that I might… scare you otherwise.”

Frowning, Shireen levels a look at him. She isn’t entirely sure how his experience compares, but she is a little embarrassed at not allowing Rickon his pleasure when he gave it to her. “I am not so frail as to be scared away,” she says sternly, hoping to prove herself. “Nor will I break. Should you wish for more, I can—”

Rickon cuts her off with a kiss, holding her against him. He deepens the kiss immediately, moving a hand between her legs and rubbing at her until she is bucking against him. Though Shireen makes to turn into him, he holds her hips firmly and moves her the other way. Before Shireen can question him, she feels him pressing up against her bottom. Sucking in a gasp, Shireen takes a deep breath as Rickon finds her again. He goes to his knees, aligning them before sliding into her just as smoothly as before.

Gasping, Shireen pushes up on her hands. Rickon helps her up, holding her ribs and pressing her back to his chest. Shireen struggles to hold herself up, and it only becomes more difficult when Rickon begins moving into her. The sensation is different enough to make her curious, to make her want him, and she moves back into him as much as she can. Rickon’s mouth finds a spot on her shoulder, sucking at the skin there and kissing it even though he never stops his movement. Clumsily, Shireen reaches for the headboard again, trying to find a way to push back into him even more. Rickon groans, increasing their speed until the sound of skin on skin accompanies them.

With a moan, Shireen continues on, bent on giving Rickon the same pleasure that he gave her. Rickon’s hands find new purchase on her, one of them squeezing her breast possessively, the other sliding down between her legs again. With a moan, Shireen reaches back. She tightens a fist in his hair, trying to turn him for a kiss. He never makes it that far. His head falls on her shoulder, his mouth open against her skin, breathing short, quick bursts of air that match pace with his thrusts. Still, his hand moves against her, and Shireen feels herself about to tip over again. She pushes back the sensation as much as she can, but Rickon rolls her nipple between his fingers and she can’t stop herself from nearly falling.

Rickon is the only thing holding her up, even pushing into her as she rides out the waves of pleasures. His last few thrusts are shorter, more disjointed, and Shireen knows without a doubt that he has found his pleasure as well. His grip disappears when he sighs loudly, and Shireen only just stops herself from collapsing by grabbing onto the headboard of her bed. She can feel Rickon’s weight against her back, and he kisses down her spine as he slowly leaves her.

The loss of him bothers her more than she expected. After feeling so satisfied, so pleased, so encompassed in heat, the chill of the North stings. Luckily, it doesn’t last long before Rickon’s hands run over her again. He works her away from the headboard, bringing her down to the sheets that are likely damp from sweat. Shireen has no energy to complain, to think about the amount of sheer exercise and activity it was. She only wants to remember it, to embed it into her memory, and to let it consume her for the rest of her days.

Brimming with euphoria, Shireen doesn’t notice that Rickon has laid her down entirely until he nudges her shoulder with his nose. Turning to him, she finds him looking confused. Had she any strength left, she would have questioned him. Instead, she turns into his chest, wondering if that will elicit a response.

“What are you thinking, princess?” he asks, resting a hand on her hip.

Shireen hums, wondering if she can still produce sound. “I’m thinking that whores have the right of it,” she murmurs back, earning a chuckle from him. Smiling, Shireen extends her comment to a jape. “I may need to abandon my position.”

Rickon nearly frowns, looking extremely cross. “Or you could call on me,” he offers. He smiles, before it turns devious. “I can assure you that there’s a lot more I could show you.”

Shireen looks down, trying to hide the fact that she’s biting her lip just thinking about allowing Rickon to bed her, to fuck her, wherever and whenever she’d like. Her thought gets derailed when she finds his flaccid cock between them. Giggling, Shireen reaches down to gently flick it, getting a small scowl from Rickon. “There isn’t much you could show me with that.”

He rolls his eyes. “In a few minutes, I can have you gasping again,” he says, sliding his hands over her back to squeeze her bottom possessively. Leaning forward, he brushes their lips together. “But if you’re so eager, I know that my tongue is enough.”

A breath catches in Shireen’s throat. Though she doesn’t wish to spur him on more, she can’t help herself from pressing into him and stealing the kiss that was waiting for her. Shireen takes all of it, rolling her chest into his, and feeling the reaction his hands have. Gathering herself as much as she can, Shireen pushes him away. She curls back down to press her face against his chest. “You need your rest, my lord,” she tells him. “It is what my room is for.”

She knows that Rickon has a quip prepared, that he is jumping to use it and bring her back. However, he must also see the exhaustion in her because he lets it go. His hands slowly move to areas of greater innocence, and he kisses the crown of her head. Without further words, Rickon pulls a sheet over them before bowing into her and drifting off. 

It takes Shireen a longer time to rest. She is still consumed with thoughts of Rickon, sharing a bed with him, giving him her maidenhead, finding pleasure in him. He shows her kindness, but he also refuses to hold back with her. Rickon japes with her, ignores her sensitivities, and eagerly takes her challenge to not be seen as something breakable. He is rough with her, hard with her, sparing her no soft touches or sweet words to bring her pleasure. It is entirely unlike anything Shireen has ever hoped for in any possible marriage, but she finds herself drawn to it. She is entirely infatuated with the idea of finally being let go, tossed around, broken in completely new ways by Rickon’s hand. Perhaps they _would_ have a good marriage. Perhaps she was foolish to throw him away so quickly. With a new weight on her mind, Shireen falls asleep slowly, wondering if Rickon will remember to bring her moon tea. A distant part of her brain hopes he forgets, and she wonders what part of her has become so attached to the thought of carrying his bastards before the potential for a forced marriage crosses her mind.

Shireen has no need to ponder for long. In the morning, she wakes up to a warm room, with no one in her bed, and a large pouch of herbs on the table. With a sigh, Shireen walks over to the table, dragging one of the furs with her. She slowly unrolls the parchment declaring it ‘Moon Tea,’ and lets out a sigh. Surely, the decision to drink it should not be so hard.


	9. Chapter 9

Shireen is surprised that her day continues on as it usually does. Other than her beverage in the morning, she goes about her day the same way: dressing, checking the library, checking with the castellan, and taking Shaggydog out on the grounds for a walk. All in all, Shireen finds it odd that the loss of her maidenhead has passed without any sort of commotion. As a noble lady, she knew that it would generally be heavily examined after her wedding night for proof of her consummation. Even though she checked herself, there was no blood on her sheets from the previous night, and Shireen finds herself curious about it. With a sigh, Shireen mulls over the thought as she takes Shaggydog out to the yard.

The snow has steadily been getting shallower, and Shireen finds that she misses it. Shaggydog seems to miss it as well, seeking out all the melting patches of snow. A part of Shireen prays for its return if only to watch Shaggydog bound through it again, the image of ink on a sheet of pure white. They take a roundabout route around to the yard, following the sharp clank of metal on metal when it begins. With steady steps, Shireen enters the yard. Men are swinging swords together with far more force than she expected for so early in the morning. A few hold shields, but Shireen is automatically drawn to Rickon. His hair is gleaming a much more vibrant red in the morning sunlight, and his grin grows as he gets pulled into sparring matches. Rickon only wears light armor made of leather, though he keeps egging on his opponents, slashing at them in erratic patterns.

Shaggydog finds a patch of snow to lie in, making it his place to rest, and Shireen stays near his side. She watches the practice as secretly as she can, eyeing Rickon’s movements the entire time. Her attention doesn’t waver until he removes his armor and tunic, loudly calling forth opponents. Across his back, in even, parallel lines are red marks that Shireen remembers creating the previous night. Though she always assumed that she would be the one marked from the loss of her maidenhead, Rickon is the only one who bears the marks. A few men snicker at them, elbowing each other and pointing over. Rickon wears it proudly, though, and his bravado never falters. Shireen feels the heat rushing to her face, and she bows her head to recover. When she looks up again, Rickon is staring at her with a victorious grin on his face. Shireen feels her breath leave her entirely, and her jaw drops open. Someone rams into Rickon’s side, throwing him off. A small chuckle spills from his mouth as he reaches for his tunic.

“Had a good night, Your Grace?” the man asks. Shireen flushes deeper when she realizes that it is Lord Umber. For some reason, she is embarrassed to be discovered by this man, even if he doesn’t know the extent of it.

Rickon’s grin widens as he rolls his eyes. “A better night than you’ve had in years, old man,” he replies. With a swift movement, Rickon throws his tunic over his head, letting it fall over him.

“Should we expect a marriage soon, then?” Lord Umber asks, elbowing Rickon sharply. “Surely the lass enjoyed the night as well?”

Though Rickon never stops smiling, he begins to look slightly disheartened. “Not soon,” he says, sneaking a peak over to Shireen. “But we enjoyed the night regardless.”

Lord Umber laughs loudly, a booming sound that Shireen is sure all of Winterfell hears. She shyly looks up, and Rickon meets her eyes immediately. Heat shoots through her body, and the two of them are so distracted that they fail to notice the approach of Lyanna Mormont. Rickon gets shoved roughly toward her by Lord Umber, who is still laughing loudly. Rickon looks sheepish as he turns to her, and Shireen looks down when she realizes that Lord Umber suspects Rickon of bedding Lyanna.

“Lady Lyanna,” Rickon greets. The smile slowly morphs into a look of confusion.

Lyanna gives him a soft smile, a shy smile. It is all too familiar to Shireen, and she knows that Lyanna Mormont has ulterior motives for staying in Winterfell. “I’ve received a raven from Bear Island,” she says. “My sister has been asking about your position and the security of Winterfell.”

Rickon’s eyes narrow, and he no longer looks joyous. Shireen finds herself immensely peeved that Lyanna pulled him away from her so quickly. “Winterfell is safe,” Rickon assures her. “I have no plans of dying anytime soon.”

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Lyanna says quickly. She reaches out for his arm, brushing her fingers over his forearm. “Only… the North has been long at war. We have had no security, no liege lord to trust… All of the North would be more assured of your position with an heir.”

“I can name an heir if the need arises,” Rickon says sharply. “Though, if you are vying for my hand, the attempt is poor. I have no desire to take a wife. Excuse me.”

Lyanna’s hand jumps away from his arm, and Rickon turns away quickly. He huffs out a large breath of air before walking straight up to Shireen. His walk is predatory, and Shireen feels as if he would take her right then and there. She nearly snaps at him until he kneels down at Shaggydog’s side. Rickon strokes the direwolf a few times before looking up at her. Again, Shireen feels herself short of breath, and she sinks to the snow on the other side of Shaggydog.

“How are you, princess?” Rickon asks, leaning onto his knees.

Swallowing, Shireen hopes that her voice works. “I am well,” she mumbles out. “I, um, received your gift.”

“Of course.” Rickon smiles, rubbing Shaggydog’s snout.

The silence becomes too much, and Shireen feels it. “I expected more,” she says. Rickon gives her a confused look, and she clarifies, “I was told that there’d be proof, but there is nothing. Everything feels normal.”

Rickon’s smile turns devious. “It is normal,” he tells her, “or it can be.”

Shireen is certain that her face is red. Rickon’s eyes drift over her face, but he doesn’t comment on it. He looks pained by a thought. Bracing herself for the worst, Shireen takes a deep breath. “What troubles you?”

“She knows something,” Rickon mumbles. He furrows his brow, and Shaggydog sits up. The direwolf turns to Shireen, pressing his head into her stomach. After a minute, Rickon looks back to her. “I’d not betray you, but I need to know.”

It takes a moment for Shireen to remember Rickon’s previous tactics of getting women to talk. He’d revealed them to her once before. Though the thought of him putting his hands on anyone else infuriates her, she understands his concerns. He has only just taken his rightful position in Winterfell, only just found a council that will actually obey his orders. Shireen tries to rationalize it to herself. After all, she was still apart from Rickon for the majority of their days, surely he was fucking other women whenever he wanted to. Swallowing hard, Shireen finds herself nauseated at the thought.

“I could speak with her,” she offers.

“Forgive me, princess, but I do not think she would be willing to confide in you,” Rickon says. “She doesn’t even seem willing to tell me. As much as I’d prefer not to, I cannot have my council keeping secrets from me.”

Shireen feels her anger rising, and she snaps at him. “But you’d fuck them?”

Rickon meets her gaze evenly. “You forget that you are also on my council,” he says. There’s a new level of anger in his voice, and Shireen knows that she is the cause. “Perhaps I should find elsewhere to sleep.”

Opening her mouth to respond, Shireen cannot find the words. She never meant to push Rickon away. After being so encompassed in him, she only wishes for more. She wishes to call him back to her bed, to have him against her, inside her. The few hours apart from him have only made her ache for him, and she isn’t sure how to tell him that, particularly when he wants to charm another woman for information. Nothing is a comfort to her now, and Shireen feels her heart drop when Rickon stands and begins walking away slowly.

Rushing to her feet, Shireen hurries over to snag Rickon’s wrist, tripping over her skirts in the process. He turns at her small sound of fright, catching her in his arms. A flash of amusement crosses his look of anger. Gathering herself, Shireen tries to articulate her thoughts as cleanly as possible. “I—I only wish for you not to bed her,” she says, her face flushing. “I don’t want another to find pleasure by you.”

Rickon smiles, looking down to his feet. “I’d give it to no one else,” he says. His hands slowly slide up her arms, brushing her hair behind her shoulders. “I won’t betray you, princess.”

Shireen moves a hand to his jaw, lifting his face to meet hers. Through the scratch of his stubble, Shireen still yearns to kiss him, even though they are in the courtyard with his household watching. Rickon seems to notice this as well, removing her hand and taking a small step away. He brings her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“I’ll return to you tonight,” he says.

Though Shireen can hear the promise in his voice, she doesn’t trust it. As Rickon walks away, she thinks that it may very well be their last encounter. After all, who would return to her bed after knowing a beautiful woman like Lyanna Mormont? She is a horrendous sight with greyscale over her face, and she has already been ruined by her liege lord. Surely, now that he has had his way with her, he can seek his pleasure elsewhere. From what she’s heard of men, they were perfectly content abandoning women even if they carried a child. A bedding is all they wanted, and there was no reason for Rickon to be any different.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Shireen clasps her hands together. She watches Rickon disappear into the keep and finds herself frozen in place. _Now would be the time to pray_ , she thinks, wondering what she would pray for. A child? Her moonblood? Rickon’s return? None of it seems satisfactory enough, and Shireen isn’t even sure _where_ to pray. The gods of her father never served her well, only taking from her, and it has been years more that she has prayed to the Seven. She knows that there is a sept in Winterfell, but she realizes that she has no gods now. She hasn’t for a long while.

Shireen reaches out a hand, beckoning Shaggydog closer. The direwolf comes, leaning into her shoulder before licking her greyscale. Stroking his fur a few times, Shireen steadies a hand on him, letting him lead her. They walk the grounds for a long time, and Shireen becomes completely lost in her thoughts. Her feet move of her own accord, and Shireen does everything she can to stop herself from thinking of Rickon having his way with Lyanna Mormont.

It takes a long time for Shireen to realize that she has stopped moving. Looking up, she finds herself in front of a Heart Tree. Shaggydog has led her into the godswood, right to the old gods, the only gods she has never prayed to. With a smile, Shireen sits on the warm ground before the hot spring, staring into the face of the tree. No gods have ever answered her calls before. There was no harm in trying with another.

She shakes her head roughly, and Shaggydog curls up around her. Shireen leans against his massive form, trying to find words for these gods that she knows nothing about. It is hard enough to meet the face in the tree, so she turns to Shaggydog. “I’m a fool, aren’t I?” she asks the wolf. “The only love I have is yours, and even you prefer Rickon, as well.”

Sliding her arms over the direwolf, Shireen rests over him. She would just have to accept her position at Winterfell as his Hand, cut off her ties to him, and perhaps start seeking out a proper husband. Shireen nearly nods off when Shaggydog suddenly sits up. Flinching away from the direwolf, Shireen listens to the growl building in his rib cage. She freezes, unsure of what to do. With a soft bark, Shaggydog noses her away, pushing her off him entirely before running off. Shireen groans loudly, having lost her faithful companion to some unknown cause.

Moving over to the roots of the tree, Shireen tries to rest there. Snow has fallen during her short nap, and she seeks the shelter of the branches. She mostly just doesn’t want to venture back to her chambers, to be in the same keep as Rickon when he is with another woman. However, Shireen cannot drift off with the face of the Heart Tree watching her, so she moves around to the back of the tree. With some effort, she nestles herself between two larger roots. After much squirming, she finds comfort and drifts off again.

The haze of sleep sits over her firmly, even when she begins to wake. The crunching of snow assaults her ears the most, though Shireen is uncertain if she is dreaming. Still the information comes. Someone walks through the godswood, stomping their feet unnecessarily. There’s a loud scream—a sound shot through with anger and fury—that makes Shireen scoot further into her haze of sleep. Her mind becomes mixed up, no longer differentiating between actual events and her sleep.

“You knew, didn’t you?” someone screams. Shireen thinks that it’s Rickon. For a moment, she fears that he’s shouting at her, but the possibility vanishes quickly enough. His heavy breaths fill the air, and Shireen strains her ears, trying to imagine what could possibly be going on.

The situation mixes further in her mind when someone else speaks. It is some language that she doesn’t understand: filled with low, guttural sounds and clipped syllables. From the tone, she can tell that the voice is distinctly female. Rickon’s voice responds in the same language, though he is still obviously angry. The sound soothes her somehow, hearing a language that she doesn’t understand, and she drifts off further. She is pulled into deep and shallow sleep, alerting to some noises more than others: the clattering of a sword, the bark of a direwolf, the word that can only be a sharp reprimand that punctuates the argument. She can only guess what the argument is about, what Rickon is fighting this woman on.

There is a long time of silence, where only the whisper of wind fills the air, and finally Rickon speaks in the common tongue again. “I’m going.” He cuts off a heavy sigh. “ _No_. I’m going. If they wanted the wrath of the North, then they will have it.”

Another sigh comes before an obviously mocking tone. “And your woman?”

Shireen strains her ears, desperately wanting to wake, to try and hear who Rickon speaks of next. She cannot pierce the hold of sleep over her, though. To make matters worse, she cannot even move. Instead of fighting the urge to do so, she sinks into the feeling. A low growl stops the conversation, and Shireen feels warm breath over her face. She starts to realize how cold she is, but is stuck between her sleep and waking. A hand falls to her face, stroking her cheek gently, and there is no doubt in her mind that it is Rickon.

“She’s freezing,” Rickon says simply. His hands scrape over her shoulders, and Shireen only just realizes that she’s covered in snow. Rickon digs her out, though, removing the ice from her body before lifting her into his arms. “She needs warmth.”

“The hot spring,” the woman replies.

Shireen tries to open her eyes, to find whoever Rickon speaks to in unknown languages, but she lacks the strength for it. Her whole body tilts as Rickon sets her down again, flat on the ground this time. A much thinner layer of snow is beneath her, but now she feels like she’s freezing when Rickon had been so warm against her. She hears the familiar fall of his clothes, recognizing them from many nights in her room. She tries to suck in a breath, to beg him back, but it meets great opposition.

“Bloody hells,” he hisses out. Rickon’s hands quickly move over her body, untying her gown. “Help me, woman.”

The responding voice is obviously teasing again. “You seem to know your way around that one well enough.”

Rickon snaps something back in his strange tongue, making the woman laugh. “Leave then,” he says sharply. Rickon grabs her arm roughly, turning her to get her out of the gown. “Go, Osha.”

“Of course, my lord,” the woman replies, her tone still mocking. “Anything for your woman.”

A loud growl follows this, and Shireen feels her smallclothes being pulled from her as well. She doesn’t even think to question it, to cover herself up from the piercing cold of the world around her. Rickon swears, though, grabbing her hips and pulling her up against his body. “Shit,” he murmurs, holding her neck steady and kissing her full on the mouth.

His heat seeps into her, filling her up, and Shireen’s mouth tingles with the sensation. She feels the numbness leaving her system slowly, but the cold and ice around her isn’t helping. Rickon’s body presses up against her, the smooth flesh of him on her, and Shireen can’t even think of intimacy when death pierces her mind just as often. Her feet slowly slip into liquid with Rickon’s tight grip holding her up, and Shireen feels the feelings returning to her body before the heat of the water envelops her. Rickon fully submerges everything but her face, though he kisses her to make up for that, pulling her mouth open and sweeping his tongue into her.

Shireen moans gently, rolling into him before she sputters on water. With a laugh, Rickon lifts her up, scooping her hair into one hand and holding her against his chest. Blinking open her eyes, Shireen finds herself looking at his bare skin, cut through with a multitude of scars over it. Weakly, she lifts a hand, tracing over one of his scars. Rickon places a hand over hers, grasping it gently and moving her upright.

“Did you mean to sleep in the snow, princess?” Rickon asks. He nudges her forehead with his nose, holding her tighter to his chest.

Shaking her head gently, Shireen leans up. She slides her hands up his shoulders, resting her head on the dip between his neck and his shoulder. Her memories are still fuzzy, but she can’t help but feel several questions in her mind. She jumps past thoughts of him with Lyanna and the mysterious other woman to the thought that most ails her. “Are you really leaving?”

Rickon holds her more firmly against him, rubbing his hands over all her exposed skin. “Aye,” he tells her. “I must.”

“Why?”

Rickon bows into her, breathing more warmth into her. “House Stark has been wronged,” he says. “By one of my bannermen no less—someone who knelt before me and swore me their allegiance—and I cannot allow this to pass.”

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Shireen presses into him as much as possible. She bows her head down, kissing his neck. “Will you return to me?” she asks sheepishly, her fingers toying with the hair at the base of his neck.

“You and only you,” Rickon replies. He readjusts his grip on her to release a hand, tilting her head up. Shireen lets out a long breath as Rickon slowly inclines his head to meet her lips. 

Their kiss is slow, and Shireen realizes that Rickon is holding back because she was nearly frozen before. The water is overly-warm, though, and Shireen feels as if her rooms could never compare to the heat of this: being enveloped in a hot spring with Rickon’s arms about her. Stretching out her legs, Shireen’s toes scrape against the pebbles beneath them. She grips Rickon harder, walking her legs over his, making him hum against her mouth. All the movement spurs him on, and his arms hold her more securely, putting them flush together with his cock pressing into her thigh.

Shireen moans, squirming until she has her legs wrapped around his hips. He is entirely pressed up against her, and Shireen hooks her ankles to drag him closer. Rickon groans loudly, shifting his hips and begging entrance. Before inviting him in, Shireen grabs his chin and looks at him intently. “Did you bed her?” she asks.

“Never,” Rickon says firmly. He tries again but Shireen keeps him away. “I didn’t even have to touch her, though she wanted me to. She pressed up against me, spilling out her secrets, trying to unlace her gown… If only she knew I cared for another…”

“Me?” Shireen asks incredulously, never thinking that it could be true.

Rickon laughs, hugging her lightly. “Of course, you,” he says. Rickon kisses her face repeatedly. “You: the princess who hated me and the North. You: the maiden who tamed my direwolf. You: the lady that put my council in their place. You: the woman so clever and intelligent… How could I resist? I have fallen prey to your charms, so take me, princess. I am yours.”

Shireen lunges at him, gripping him tightly about his neck and forcing their lips together. Rickon responds immediately, deepening their kiss. His hands slide down to her arse, kneading his fingers into her. Her whole body rolls into him, and Rickon groans when she rocks against him. Their breathing quickly becomes heavy, and Shireen rolls her hips until he is properly positioned before her. Taking the cue, Rickon slides into her, drawing out a sharp gasp from her mouth. She drops her head, biting down on his shoulder as he begins thrusting into her. With another gasp, she throws her head back. Her fingers tighten on his shoulders, and she tries to rock into him of her own accord.

Soon, they are moving in tandem: pushing into and against one another to seek out the peak of their friction. Rickon moves deep inside her, with quick short movements that make her moan. He grips her leg tightly, shifting the angle at which he digs into her. With a hard sound, Shireen reaches for his ribs, grinding her hips back into his. With another kiss, Rickon turns them, pressing Shireen into the bank, continuing to drive into her. Shireen gasps with the dig of the rocks into her back, but without a soft featherbed behind her, Rickon seems to get deeper inside of her, thrusting faster.

The assault of sensations frustrates her, builds her up to her peak faster. The chill of the night brushes her breasts whenever Rickon has drawn out for another thrust, with the heat of the water lapping against her thighs as he works them over. Rickon kisses away her gooseflesh, rubbing warmth into her even as he fucks her against the bank of the hot spring. Squeezing her legs tighter around him, Shireen moves back against him. She holds onto his shoulders, sitting herself up, and Rickon pulls out of her completely.

Shireen nearly growls at him, feeling entirely teased and cheated from her pleasure. Rickon smirks at her, pulling her back into the water. Shireen goes willingly, moving against him and finding him with her hand. It has the desired effect, and Rickon grabs her roughly, turning her to press his chest against her back. Reaching back, Shireen grabs his hip, trying to shift their positions to get him inside of her again. Rickon complies, shoving her against another bank. Shireen gasps sharply, feeling the pebbles on the bank reshaping her breasts. Arching her back away from them, Rickon’s hands become her barrier, keeping her warm and keeping them together until Shireen is clenching around him. She squeezes her legs together as he thrusts into her, finding his own climax inside of her.

Grabbing onto the back of his neck, Shireen stops herself from falling back to the bank. Rickon never releases her, staying inside her and merely turning them until she is sat over his lap. His mouth finds her neck, kissing it repeatedly until Shireen turns to look at him. He takes her mouth then, his hands sliding down between her legs. Relaxing against him, Shireen rests her head on his shoulder.

“When will you leave?” she asks.

“In a fortnight,” Rickon responds immediately. “And I will make my trip short: only a small company of men with me. We will ride to Barrowtown, right the wrong done to my family, and return as soon as possible.”

Shireen moves away from him, then, submerging herself down into the water. When she breaks the surface, Rickon stares at her, watching the swell of her breasts as droplets run down them. Running her fingers through her hair, Shireen slowly approaches him, trailing her fingers across his chest. A glance down tells her that he is ready for her again, and she finds the obvious sign of want alluring. Taking a tiny step closer, Shireen lets her fingers brush down his stomach. “And until you leave?” she asks. “What will you do until then?”

The sound that escapes Rickon is truly a growl now. He grabs her behind her thighs roughly, parting her legs and settling into the space there. Without entering her, he bucks against her, driving frustration into her body once more. Shireen rolls her hips in response, but Rickon keeps away, biting at her ear. “I will bed you and fuck you every instant you allow it,” he snarls out. He pushes more firmly against her, making her gasp. “Tell me, princess, would you have me?”

As she opens her mouth to respond, Rickon thrusts into her, and Shireen groans in pleasure. She digs her nails into his back, finding any purchase on him possible. “I would,” she murmurs out between heavy breaths.

Rickon grins, pushing into her again. He only gives her a single thrust before pausing at his deepest. “Will you call my name as I fuck you?” he asks.

“Yes,” Shireen breathes out. She tightens her legs around him, dragging a hand through his hair. He thrusts again before pausing. “ _Rickon_.” 

He smiles against her neck, moving his hips again.

“Rickon,” Shireen repeats. “Rickon… Rickon… Yes, oh please, Rickon.”

It is perhaps too much noise for the hour, a break in the stillness of the night, but Shireen soon cannot help herself, finding his speed and depth a direct result of how she eggs him on. The experience is much better repeated, and it doesn’t take long for Shireen to realize that Rickon pleasures her more fully, with much more roughness every time. Though he is incredibly rough against her, Shireen soon begs him for more, coaxing him to come with her. As he does, Rickon grabs her face in his hands, kissing her fully on the mouth. Shireen whimpers against his mouth, her legs trembling from the waves of pleasure.

Rickon’s hands slowly slide down her body, pulling her back into the hot spring. “Everyone will be asleep by now,” he tells her. “We can return to your bed, if you’d like.”

Licking her lips, Shireen curls up against his chest, feeling rather devious. “I don’t think we need a bed, my lord.”


	10. Chapter 10

For the next fortnight, Shireen and Rickon are never apart during the night. He enters her chambers quickly, striding toward her full of purpose as he removes his clothes. Laughing at him, Shireen simply waits on the featherbed, watching him. This serves to spur Rickon on, as he yanks her toward him, nearly ripping her dressing gown to get her unclothed.

There soon becomes no surface of her room where they have not lain together. Rickon is endlessly creative in his ways to pleasure her, carrying her weight a majority of the time as he holds her up against walls. Sometimes, he lifts her onto his shoulders, fitting his mouth to the juncture between her thighs. Shireen’s brief terror at being so high up dissipates quickly enough when Rickon’s tongue finds her. Still, she tries to find purchase on the walls, often grabbing onto the tapestries that cover her room and nearly ripping them down.

Rickon tosses her about the room as if she weighs nothing, testing her flexibility as he tangles them together in new positions and dives into her. He is always in control, always over her, supporting her, pleasuring her. Nothing stops him from teasing her, though. Shireen begs for release several times, trying to move against him, but Rickon always stills her. He sets their pace torturously slow then, infuriating her until he brings them back to reach their climax together.

After spending so much time together, Shireen finds herself more comfortable being around Rickon during the day. As often as he spends his time in the yard shirtless, Shireen finds that seeing the marks her nails cut across his back make her oddly proud. She has marked him, claimed him, and everyone knows that he belongs to _someone_.

The japes from other men stop soon enough. Even though Rickon still laughs with them and bids them to practice hard and well for their ride out, the men know that something is wrong. Shireen sees them notice how Lady Lyanna scowls at Rickon when he’s shirtless, and the men clearly believe that their king has ulterior motives for whatever he’s doing.

Rickon either doesn’t know or doesn’t care. He ignores all of their questions about which whorehouse he visits, or which bed is the warmest. However, he still meets Shireen’s eyes as often as possible, making her throb at the memory of the things he’s done to her body. It is wonder that his men could be so thick, so blind to their liege lord who rarely looks away from her. As a testament to Rickon’s knowledge, he sees this too, asking her about it when he walks up to her at the end of a practice.

“I may need new northmen,” he says. “They’re the thickest bunch.”

“They truly can’t see you undressing me with your eyes?” Shireen asks, leaning over the fence toward him.

Rickon scoffs. “You’d think that the first person I’d be accused of fucking is my betrothed,” he says, “but it seems that _that_ title doesn’t even have the desired effect.”

With a deep breath, Shireen meets Rickon’s eyes. “You forget that men do not see me,” she says. “I do not exist— not as a highborn lady, or as a whore to be fucked. Your northmen would rather you bed a thousand whores than someone like me.”

“Because you’re a Southerner?” Rickon asks, looking a little lost.

“Because I’m a monster,” Shireen whispers back. She tilts her head to give him full view of the greyscale. “When you ride out on the morrow, I’ll be properly ignored by your men until your return. I won’t even have a way to use my time.”

Rickon smirks at her. “If you say _fucked_ again, I’ll fuck you until you can’t remember your name,” he says, his voice in a low whisper that sends chills down Shireen’s spine. “Mayhap that will give you a memory to occupy your time.”

She swallows to maintain her composure, hoping that she can appear confident before him. “Oh, but I want you to fuck me,” she hums out softly. She glances down to his mouth, watching him lick his lips hungrily. She reaches out for his chin, trying to make the gesture look natural to any possible on-lookers. “I want you deep inside of me to give me something to remember you by.”

His entire body shudders, and he leans toward her. At the last moment, Shireen steps away, letting him fall to the fence. She grins at him before turning, walking back to the keep with slow steps. Before she can open the door, Shireen hears Rickon’s heavy footfalls behind her, obviously trying to reach her. Picking up speed, Shireen intends to make it to her bedchambers before his approach.

Shireen doesn’t make it that far. Before she can round the corner to the corridor with her rooms, an arm wraps around her waist, pulling her back. She is pinned tightly against Rickon’s body, can feel the hard press of him against her arse, and he puts his mouth to her neck.

“Could I do so now?” Rickon growls against her, thrusting his hips forward even though several layers of clothing separate them.

“I—my bedroom is—”

“I don’t think we need a bed, princess,” Rickon says. He grabs her chin to kiss her full on the mouth, walking her forward until she is against a wall.

Shireen braces herself against the stones as much as she can. She knows that turning her body would be useless, that Rickon prefers pressing into her from behind, so she kisses him deeply, rolling her hips back into his. His hands quickly brush down her sides, and she hears the sounds of him working off his clothes. Shireen doesn’t even feel her skirts being lifted until Rickon’s hands are on her thighs, working off her smallclothes.

“Someone will find us,” Shireen blurts out, even though she pushes her arse into him, feeling him between her legs.

Rickon pauses, leaning over her shoulder to kiss her cheek. “Shaggy is a great sentry.”

Without any further words, Rickon enters her. Bending her arms against the wall, Shireen dips her head into her elbow, stopping herself from being injured against the hard stone as Rickon pushes deeper into her. She bites down on her forearm, muffling the sounds that leave her. Rickon’s fingers are hard on her hips, moving her to match his pace, intent as he is on making her come as fast as possible. She is barely standing, only her toes brush the floor, but her whole body is rocking. It is some effort that keeps Rickon’s hands from moving over her as they usually do, but they finish together soon enough.

Rickon’s breath comes hard on her shoulder, his grip relaxing to return her to the floor. His hands don’t move though, sliding around to the front of her legs before he finally draws out of her. Without his hands serving as a barrier, her skirts fall back into place, and she feels the moisture between her thighs. She slowly turns to face Rickon, thinking that his blood is still hot from taking her outside her bedroom. Shireen feels it enough herself: the danger of being caught only heightening the pleasure of him.

Tying up his breeches, Rickon meets her eyes. “Tell me your name again, princess.”

She furrows her brow. “Shireen.”

Rickon shrugs, cocking his head to the side. “I’ll have to do better tonight.”

Shireen steps forward, a sharp reprimand on her tongue that never finds its way out. Her words are stolen from her when she trips, forgetting that her smallclothes are bunched around her ankles. Rickon catches her easily, sweeping her up into his arms. Grasping onto his shoulders, Shireen finds her balance as Rickon carries her into her room. He takes her all the way to the bed, placing her on the edge gingerly. With a light kiss to her forehead, Rickon leaves her rooms, a smile on his face the entire time.

Humming softly to herself, Shireen cleans herself off, removing her dirtied clothes and tying herself into another gown. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she doesn’t want Rickon to leave. However, they have a properly arranged deal, and Shireen has to remind herself that bedding him isn’t a part of it. They are never to be married, she will never have him, and it will be in her best interests to use his time away to find herself a proper husband. Shireen’s resolve toward the matter has been in constant flux, and she finds her will breaking as night approaches.

Instead of ignoring Rickon and trying to settle matters with him, Shireen feels devious and brimming with desire for him. Frustrated as she is, she cannot keep still when the sun sets. Shireen busies herself tending to her room, opening windows, adjusting blankets, clearing her desk, and rearranging the firewood. When she runs out of things to do, she tries to settle in the featherbed, but she is jittery for Rickon’s arrival. In an effort to keep herself busy and prepare for their night, Shireen strips completely, sliding into her bed for warmth and getting lost in the feeling of the sheets on her skin.

Shireen is stretching when the door finally opens, and she rolls over mid-stretch to find Rickon waiting for her. He wears a grin proudly, already removing his clothes as he approaches. His gaze rakes all over her body, and a glance down tells Shireen that her breasts have become exposed. With a sigh, Shireen relaxes, looking over to him.

“Yes, my lord?” she asks, running a hand through her hair.

Rickon’s grin grows wider as he meets her in nudity and climbs over her bed. He doesn’t stop until he is over her, his hard cock resting on her hip. “I believe we had plans for tonight,” he tells her. “And you appear ready.”

“I’d like a kiss first,” Shireen says boldly, leaning up on her elbows to get nearer to his face.

“You shall have a million kisses, princess,” Rickon tells her, “and I will put them wherever you’d like.”

Though Shireen was fully prepared for Rickon’s hard, rough nature to be on full display, he doesn’t act at all as she expects him to. Climbing over her completely, Rickon gives her a chaste kiss before moving down to kiss at the remainder of her exposed skin. Shireen blinks, watching his journey over her body. By the time he makes it back to her mouth, Rickon only deepens their kiss the slightest amount. Placing his elbows on either side of her shoulders, Rickon leans into her. Staring up at him, Shireen is stuck by how bright his eyes are even though they look darker than usual.

Rickon slowly slides off her, taking his usual place beside her and sliding under the sheets. Reaching his toes out, he hits her leg gently. Shireen turns to him slowly, ready to ask him something, but he beats her to it, stealing another kiss. It is harder to kiss him when they are both on their sides, but Shireen already knows that she enjoys it immensely, so she puts forth the effort to kiss him back. Rickon hums lightly when they part.

By far, it is the gentlest Rickon has ever been with her. He touches her light as a feather, only just brushing her skin and sending sensations flying over her body. Even when he finally reaches out for her, he caresses her softly, as if she is again a fragile thing. 

Shireen automatically feels the urge to snap at him. She has spent more than twenty years of her life being treated as if she will break at any moment, as if she needs to be protected from the great evils of the world that would do her harm, and she is annoyed that the thought could even cross Rickon’s mind. If she were to ever enjoy the soft touches and gentle nature, it would not be for anyone’s pity.

The only thing that stops her is the look in Rickon’s eyes. He looks a little confused, full of wonder and awe. He slowly lifts a hand to press his palm over her greyscale.

“I was told that it drives people mad,” he says. “No one could survive it. Everyone died. How did you—”

“No one survives it,” Shireen says. “I will wear these marks for the rest of my life. It’s not even living—the way I’m treated.”

Slowly, a soft smile grows on Rickon’s face. Unlike Shireen expects, it’s not sad or pitying. It is devious, almost a smirk, like he usually smiles. He slides his hand up between her shoulder blades, pressing her to his chest. He kisses her leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world, but he deepens the kiss, making her moan. Shireen clutches feebly at his shoulders, but she already feels weak from his attention. Staring her in the eyes, Rickon breaks the kiss, though he keeps his lips against hers. Lightheaded, Shireen sighs heavily. She feels as if he has just had her soul sucked from her body, and she isn’t sure where he left it.

“Tell me that you’re not living, princess,” Rickon dares her. “Tell me that we are not alive in each other every night.”

Shireen does nothing but blink at him, wondering where such poetry was hiding in this supposed-wildling king. Rickon nudges her nose with his, and her heart flutters so loud that she thinks he can hear it. Blinking back at him, Shireen tries to organize her thoughts. As much effort as she puts into it, only one thing remains. Before it can manifest in words, Shireen shakes it from her head, refusing to see whatever her mind wants her to know. Instead, Shireen leans into Rickon bringing their lips together again. She kisses him deeply, roughly, trying to spur him back to his usual behaviors.

Rickon doesn’t give. After chuckling at her, he pushes her back in increments, pacing their kiss back to the relaxed speed of before. Even hooking her leg over him doesn’t do it. Rickon seems intent on forcing her thoughts everywhere she doesn’t want them to go. He acknowledges the movement, placing a hand on her thigh, but he doesn’t move into her yet. Rolling her onto her back, Rickon climbs over her again. He rarely stops kissing her, even as he runs his hands down her sides, spreads her legs apart, and _finally_ pushes into her.

As much as Shireen has come to enjoy a fast pace, Rickon never increases his speed. Rickon makes love to her slow and sweet, kissing her constantly, though his mouth leaves hers in favor of her neck. Matching his pace, Shireen moves back into him, wanting to participate, even though Rickon is fixated on watching her and pleasuring her.

After catching his eyes again, Shireen finds that she cannot look away. Her heart wrenches at the mere sight of him, at knowing that _she_ is his current fixation. When he smiles at her, her breath is taken away and she cannot hide from the truth that’s eating at her.

She is in love with him.

She has been for a while, she thinks, but Shireen cannot remember when it happened. She isn’t sure when her heart decided to break their agreement, when she knew that she would never seek another for a husband. Without a doubt though, Shireen knows that she will never leave Rickon. Regardless of how many women he’s bedded, or how many spearwives he may take, she will stay in Winterfell for him.

Reaching out for the back of his neck, Shireen brings their lips back together. Neither of them look away, becoming completely consumed by the intimacy before they finish together. Breathing only slightly harder than usual, Shireen blinks up at Rickon as he moves off of her. His arms fold up around her, cradling her close to his chest.

“Will you tell me your name, princess?” he asks, tilting his head down to look at her.

“I—I… what?” Shireen blinks up, meeting his eyes again. Her heart pounds at seeing him, and she can no longer remember anything.

Rickon smiles gently, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “It’s _Shireen_ ,” he tells her. “Your name is Shireen of House Baratheon.”

A soft smile appears on her face, and Shireen remembers his words from earlier. The first thought that crosses her mind is that whatever just happened was _not_ fucking, but she did forget her name. She sighs into Rickon’s chest, moving into her space for the night. Rickon moves slightly closer to her, relaxing his grip enough to make her feel content there. A long time passes in silence before Rickon kisses her forehead again, grumbling out a sound. It doesn’t sound like anything to her until Shireen recognizes the cadence of it: the short, clipped syllables that would sound harsh from anyone else’s tongue.

Belatedly, Shireen thinks to memorize them, to figure out what he’s saying. She’s positive that Rickon knows the meaning of his words, that they are actually words, and that they are important. However, when she looks up, Rickon has obviously fallen into a deep sleep. His face is entirely relaxed, and his breaths have evened out. With a sigh, Shireen lets go of her attachment to it, deciding that she is far better off allowing herself to enjoy the night and have a restful sleep. After all, Rickon Stark has somehow become the man she is in love with, and she can only wonder what his reaction will be should she ever tell him.

 

 

Though Shireen had every intention of waking the next morning to see Rickon off, she doesn’t manage it. When she wakes, even though the light is weak, Rickon is nowhere to be found. Rushing about her room, Shireen dresses quickly to make herself presentable before running out onto the battlements in hopes of watching Rickon depart on his journey south. It will be the farthest south he has ever been, and she knows that that alone is a struggle for him. He was intent on riding to Barrowtown, though, and Shireen longs for the sight of him before he leaves.

When she makes it out, the party is still waiting for the gate to be drawn, and Rickon sits restlessly on his horse. He glances back at odd intervals as if looking for something, and Shireen hopes that it is her. Distant shouts are called as men prepare for the ride out. Rickon beckons for Shaggydog a few times, and the direwolf complies. His horse is skittish at the approach, though, always walking away from the direwolf. Scowling, Rickon looks forward, trying to maintain his demeanor. Just as the gates open, Shaggydog turns back, looking directly up to where Shireen stands.

Rickon’s reaction is immediate. He nearly turns his horse completely, throwing off several of his men as he looks in her direction. Though Shireen cannot distinguish them, she knows the familiar green of his eyes, and she smiles at the memory of him. He inclines his head to her gently before steering his horse back to the gates and riding off at a full gallop.

Shireen continues to look after him long after he has disappeared beyond the horizon. She isn’t sure how much time has passed; only that she hopes that Rickon will reappear soon. It is with heavy feet that Shireen returns to the castle, wandering the hallways and finding no comfort within the walls of Winterfell. She nearly laughs at herself. Shireen has managed to become so entirely consumed with thoughts of Rickon that she doesn’t even long for her own safety anymore. No. She will go with him to all edges of the world if only to be with him.

Shutting her eyes tight, Shireen reminds herself that he is not hers. As much as he has tried to charm her and however much she has thrown away propriety, Rickon will never belong to her. Perhaps she could ask him to marry her and mayhap he’ll agree, but Shireen finds it difficult to imagine Rickon staying faithful to one woman. Even though he claims to have not sought out women since bedding her, Shireen cannot think that Rickon would ever be content with marriage. Children, perhaps. But never something as binding as marriage.

For the first week of his absence, Shireen tries to convince herself again of her position. She is not like to ever be an object of desire for any man, no matter what he claims, and it may be in her best interests to have Rickon’s children. After all, even as his mistress, she would be assured a place by his side. Biting her tongue, Shireen mulls over the thoughts. Really, she should just ask Rickon for his intentions. He may have explicitly stated a desire to never marry, but it is possible that the past few months have changed his mind. After all, she never imagined herself being so utterly in love with Rickon Stark.

Walking to the hall, Shireen tends to her duties as Rickon left them. She was surprised to find that Rickon even managed to leave her duties through his castellan, but she supposes that Rickon likely thinks it a jape to keep her from boredom. Still, Shireen is more than happy to be an asset to Winterfell, so she takes her seat in the nearly-empty hall.

Most of the residents of Winterfell have ventured out now that spring has come, and Shireen has seen to fewer people every day. She manages the first few people without trouble before a loud commotion comes from the yard. Shireen scowls at the door, giving her fullest attention to the lords before her and trying to resolve their concerns. Seeing them off, Shireen glances around the room. They were to be the last of the day, but another party has since entered.

A tall man stands at the head of the group, and Shireen nearly balks at the sight of his silver-white hair and purple eyes. She is allowed in the North. Daenerys Targaryen may have banished her from the South, but this is her haven. Swallowing hard, Shireen stands as the man strides toward her. She takes the few steps down and curtsies before Aegon Targaryen, finding that she is massively out-of-practice.

“Your Grace,” she greets cordially. “Allow me to welcome you to Winterfell. We did not receive word that you were coming.”

Aegon Targaryen’s smile is disarming. It is far more sincere than she ever hoped. “I did not send word, Lady Baratheon,” he tells her. “I had rather hoped to surprise House Stark with a gift.”

Shireen almost frowns, uncertain about how much information she should share with the Targaryen man. Winterfell is certainly not at war with the South, but she would not consider them on particularly friendly terms either. “I’m afraid you’ve just missed Lord Stark,” she tells him. “He should return soon. I will have someone prepare rooms for you and your party in his absence.”

“Of course, my lady,” Aegon says, another easy smile on his face. “But is there not a Lady Stark in Winterfell?”

“No,” Shireen replies, her voice tinged with her confusion. “There is only one Stark in Winterfell, and he has ridden out.”

Aegon’s smile falters. He looks troubled by this information, and he glances about the room tentatively. “Is there perhaps another place we could speak?” he asks. “I’m afraid that the large room is rather off-putting.”

Shireen takes a deep breath, wondering if Aegon has ulterior motives for his ride out and separating her from the hall. However, Shireen has had proper etiquette carved into her bones, and she is determined to uphold those ideals as well. “Of course, Your Grace,” Shireen says, gesturing for Aegon to follow her out into the yard.

They walk in silence for a long time. Shireen avoids the godswood, keeping them in sight of the household. After a while, Aegon clears his throat loudly.

“Lady Baratheon, you are betrothed to Rickon Stark, are you not?” he asks.

“I am,” Shireen replies, turning to face him. She intentionally doesn’t mention that their betrothal has spanned nearly three years and that there are no plans to be wed anytime soon. Surely, Aegon Targaryen already knows.

Aegon hums, turning to face the castle. “And there are truly no other Starks in Winterfell?” he asks. “I thought that Rickon Stark had a sister.”

Shireen nods. “Sansa Stark was betrothed to a Southern lord,” Shireen explains. “I’m afraid I don’t know what became of her standing since.”

“She’s been causing trouble for her betrothed, actually,” Aegon chuckles. He sobers up quickly. “But I was referring to the younger sister: Arya. She fought in the war, did she not?”

Again, Shireen nods, remembering how she witnessed the drawn-out arguments between the Stark sisters and the many tears that were shed as they departed. “Arya is no longer in the North,” Shireen tells him. “She went back across the Narrow Sea.”

“A shame,” Aegon mutters. He looks to his feet. “I hoped she would receive my gift. I suppose I shall have to wait for Lord Rickon to return. Will he be long?”

Now, Shireen shakes her head, hiding the smile that threatens its way onto her face. “No,” she says. “He intends to return soon.” _Back to me._

“I see,” Aegon mumbles. “Could my men perhaps bother you for a place in the keep until his return?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Shireen says, giving him another curtsy.

He shakes his head at her, the smile back on his face. “Please, my lady,” he says. “Call me Aegon.”


	11. Chapter 11

During the next few days, Shireen sees the return of her moonblood, ensuring her that the Moon Tea had its desired effects. However, she ignores it the best she can, showing Aegon around the keep and making sure that she is keeping a guest of Winterfell properly content. Aegon never notices that anything is wrong, and he often seems a little bit distracted while speaking with her. He does spend a majority of his time with her, though. They walk around the grounds and castle together. He often gives her his arm or takes her hand to lead her up and down stairs. Shireen falls back into her role as a lady quickly, remembering how to act around other lords.

They eat their meals together in the hall, sharing stories and company. Shireen finds Aegon amiable, though his personality is in stark contrast to Rickon’s. She has largely forgotten her courtesies amongst other high-borns, but Aegon never points out the errors she makes. However, Shireen quickly reminds herself and makes the appropriate corrections quickly enough. Aegon seems to find a sort of fascination in her, particularly with his unspoken comments on her mistakes, and he watches on in amusement whenever the castellan approaches her to see to matters of the North. She always turns back to Aegon sheepishly, clearing her throat loudly before resuming their conversation.

It happens during their dinner, too, and Shireen quickly looks over the facts and figures presented to her before she scribbles out some notes over the papers. The matter in question would require Rickon’s own knowledge, particularly as she still knows little about Skagos. Still, she takes a few notes for herself, tearing off a small scrap of parchment and sliding it into her sleeve before turning back to Aegon.

“Apologies, Your Gra— _Aegon_ ,” she corrects after a look from him. “I often see to these matters and give my counsel when it is asked of me.”

Aegon gives her a confused look before he laughs loudly. “You’re to be his lady wife, yet he treats you as his Hand?” he asks. “Are you really so clever?”

Shireen hides her scowl with a smile. “Yes,” she says firmly, refusing to deny her own intelligence. “I have often seen to grievances and settled matters for Winterfell.”

“Of course, my lady,” Aegon says, his voice layered in apology even though he never speaks it. “It is not often that a lady is given such a position. Even my aunt has few advisors that are ladies.”

“A shame,” Shireen quips back. She turns back to her meal after seeing the satisfied smile on Aegon’s face. It has become easier to jape with him the longer he stays. Regardless of her feelings for Rickon, she can’t help but see how suited he is for his titles. Surely, he has been properly raised to be king, unlike Rickon.

“I’m afraid I’ve not been clear with you, Lady Shireen,” Aegon says.

Shireen looks up from her meal, startled by the abrupt change in topic. “I’m sorry?”

Aegon gives her a small smile. “You’ve been a wonderful host, my lady,” he says. “But I’ve not been entirely honest with you… My coming here, that is. It is true that I’ve brought a gift for House Stark, but I had another goal as well.”

Shireen sits up straighter, turning to face Aegon fully. She doesn’t say anything. Shireen just watches as Aegon stares down at his meal.

“I recently lost my wife,” he tells her softly. “She died in childbirth, and neither of them survived. My aunt advised that I travel to get my mind off things, but I’ve been seeking another wife. Coming to Winterfell… I heard wonderful things about the Lady Arya and hoped to ask for her hand. But _you_ are utterly enthralling, my lady.”

“I’m sorry?” Shireen repeats, blinking at him.

Aegon’s mouth drops open, but he stops to compose himself again. “I would be honored to have you as my wife, Lady Shireen,” he says, finally looking her in the eyes.

“Oh, I—” Shireen fumbles for words, entirely uncertain about how to recover from this. Aside from the obvious issues of a possible betrothal to Aegon, she feels entirely committed to Rickon. Her thoughts are completely scattered, and she has a hard time structuring any sort of response. Instead of trying to think of something, she decides to flee. “I—excuse me.”

Quickly, Shireen rushes from the hall, her meal forgotten. She races blindly through the halls of Winterfell, hoping for any sort of reprieve from what just happened. Recently, she had almost entirely forgotten about breaking her betrothal to Rickon. In all honesty, after her initial search in Winterfell, she never expected to. Being presented with the opportunity was entirely unthought of. Instead of letting the thought manifest, Shireen recalls all the reasons why it would be impossible for her.

She is banned from the South. She will be killed if she ever lays claim to the throne. Surely, this includes wedding the heir to the throne. Even if he wanted to take her South, he never could. Sighing hard, Shireen leans against a wall. Aegon must have been jesting with her. He could have any woman in the seven kingdoms for his bride. There was no way he actually intended to take her for a wife, particularly not when she has been marred by greyscale all her life.

Taking a deep breath, Shireen turns, intent on heading back to her room. However, Aegon stands behind her. Shireen braces herself, focused on getting through this interaction as quickly as possible. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” Shireen says, making to step past him.

“ _Aegon_ ,” he corrects. With a soft smile, he turns into her. Even though there is space on either side of her, Shireen feels trapped. “I didn’t mean to startle you, my lady. It is only that I am quite enamored with you. Should you come south with me, I can ensure your safety, have my lady aunt pardon you, and break your betrothal. You could be my lady wife, and give your counsel to the kingdoms.”

“I am betrothed, Aegon,” Shireen insists. “I cannot—”

“You have been betrothed for years, my lady,” Aegon says gently. “Surely, if Rickon Stark intended to wed you, he’d have done so by now.”

Shireen swallows hard, not wanting to face the truth of his words. She feels the truth of it like a stab to her heart. Rickon may never wish to wed her, but she is his, regardless. Blinking back tears, Shireen tries to find a way out of this. “I… will consider your offer, Your Grace,” Shireen says. “But I believe the concern is better directed to my betrothed.”

Aegon steps into her. He slowly lifts his hands to her face, only gently touching over her greyscale. “It has never scared me,” he says evenly, as if it will impress her. “In truth, it reminds me of my dragon and its scales.”

With shaking hands, Shireen pulls Aegon’s away. She has absolutely no interest in forced intimacy with him, particularly as any attraction she feels toward him is dwarfed by what she feels for Rickon. He may be a good lord, a good man, but he has never stoked the fire within her as Rickon has. Mayhaps if given the chance...

“Forgive me, princess,” Aegon mumbles.

Immediately, Shireen winces. Only Rickon called her that. “Don’t,” she says sharply, shutting her eyes. “I am no princess, Your Grace.”

“You would be… should we wed,” Aegon tells her. “I need a wife and heirs. Please, consider it.”

“I will,” Shireen murmurs back, positive that the thought will not hold. Shireen keeps her eyes downcast, hoping that she will be left to her thoughts. However, before she is granted her solitude, she hears Aegon’s slow movement. Glancing up, Shireen only has the slightest chance to move away as Aegon makes to kiss her cheek. She doesn’t manage it in time, and her entire body freezes when he makes contact with her greyscale. Shutting her eyes tight, Shireen waits out the moment until Aegon begs her goodnight and leaves.

Without hesitation, Shireen pulls at her sleeve. She frees up a scrap of cloth and scrubs at her cheek. Even though she cannot feel anything there, Shireen can’t help but be repulsed by Aegon’s actions. Not that he _did_ it in the first place, but that she knew he only did it to win her favor. Infuriated, Shireen stomps back to her room. She makes for the basin of water immediately, cleaning off whatever sort of residue Aegon left on her.

No matter his attraction or feelings for her, Shireen would certainly never be his. With greater, mixed feelings, Shireen drags herself into bed. Now, she longs for Rickon to return soon, if only to remember his actions. Honestly, she mostly wants him in her bed to hold her as she sleeps. There is no possibility of her going South, regardless of Aegon’s will.

Shireen sleeps in late the next day. She wants to spend as little time with Aegon as possible, knowing that he is like to make further advances toward her. With slow movements, Shireen prepares for the day, only to be completely surprised when she opens her door. A friendly black direwolf stands outside her door, greeting her with a lick to the face. Shireen laughs, wrapping her arms around Shaggydog’s neck.

“Oh, you’re back,” she sighs. Shireen bites back the question she wants to ask, knowing that the direwolf cannot answer. Instead, she just buries her face into Shaggydog’s pelt. Breathing in his scent, Shireen relaxes with the familiarity back in her life. After close to two weeks without Rickon or Shaggydog, having just one of them back is enough to make her happy. Shaggydog seems to have missed her as well, tapping her stomach with his snout and digging into it a bit. Shireen thinks that he is simply greeting her before she remembers her moonblood.

Patting Shaggydog’s head gently, she eases him off before heading down to the hall and seeking out the castellan. Before she can ask, he answers her question.

“They are a few hours’ ride out,” he tells her. “The direwolf returned well ahead of the party, but they should be back for dinner.”

“Of course,” Shireen responds. “Thank you.”

The castellan leaves off to the kitchens, most likely to begin preparations for the party’s return. Content that her life will be restored soon, Shireen follows Shaggydog around, letting him wander the keep. He seeks out a few scents, meandering wildly until he finally makes it out to the stables. Shireen makes to cut him off, hoping to prevent the horses from becoming spooked, but Shaggydog walks straight through them, finding a large wooden crate and sniffing at it intently. The horses all whinny loudly around him, skittering to the edges of their pens. Shireen tries to calm them, beckoning Shaggydog back.

“I see you’ve found the gift,” Aegon says from behind her.

Shireen jumps at his voice, twisting about and nearly falling over. Aegon makes a grab at her wrist, to steady her, but he stops when Shaggydog growls loudly, scaring the horses even more. Shaggydog moves directly behind Shireen, keeping her on her feet, but he bares his teeth at Aegon. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” Shireen says quickly. “The horses—”

“Yes, that’s mine he’s scaring,” Aegon says. He offers her a hand to lead her out, but a snap from Shaggydog makes him back away. He beckons to her instead, leading the way out. “I see the Stark has returned.”

“He is King in the North,” Shireen reminds Aegon. “And he will be back by dinner. Shaggydog came sooner. He prefers my company.”

“And you his?” Aegon asks back. “Do you truly stay North for this beast? Would you not abandon it for a throne in the south?”

Shireen’s mouth hardens into a line. “I’d not abandon the North regardless,” she says. “I’m needed here. Unless you strike a bargain with Rickon himself, I’ll not be going anywhere.”

Aegon scowls, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Forgive me,” he says. “I didn’t realize your attachment to Winterfell. Mayhap, I should have asked.”

Shireen nods curtly, stepping into line with Shaggydog, knowing that he is off-putting even to a man who owns a dragon. Lifting an arm up, Shireen scratches at Shaggydog’s neck absently. Aegon gives her a brief nod before walking away, though Shireen notices that he doesn’t disappear completely. All day, Aegon walks in her periphery, obviously intent on figuring out her motivations. Even though Shireen is overjoyed at Shaggydog’s return, she remembers her courtesies quickly.

However, on her search back to Aegon, the gates open for the coming party. Shireen freezes in her place in the yard, watching the men ride back in. They all head straight toward the stables, putting their horses away. Rickon rides in last, his horse moving at a slow trot and struggling under the weight of his cargo. There is a box attached behind the horse, with small wheels to help its movement. Without a glance toward the crowd, Rickon dismounts in the middle of the yard, tossing the reins to a stableboy. He makes his way directly to the box, hefting it up and walking off.

Shireen yearns to follow him, to greet him properly. It takes her a moment to remember that she is not his lady wife, that he would not greet her before a crowd anyway. Whatever they have between them is secret, and Shireen stamps down the urge to treat him as hers. Shaggydog lets out a low whine, beating his paws at the ground. Shireen taps him gently, sending him off after Rickon. Whatever it is he is doing, he seems intent on completing it alone. Even though Shireen can see how tired he looks, she cannot interrupt his plans.

With a sigh, she turns back to her previous task. Shireen finds Aegon just beyond the gathered crowd to see the return of the traveling party. Aegon leans against a fence, watching her approach.

“I see Lord Stark has returned,” Aegon says.

“ _King_ Stark,” Shireen corrects. She finishes her approach, walking into the adjacent yard. “I’m sure he will see to you when he is finished.”

“Of course,” Aegon says. “I owe you my apologies, as well. I did not mean to presume your position, and I will retract my proposal.”

Shireen bites her tongue from making the obvious statement: that she should hold no power over her betrothal, and that Aegon is entirely welcome to negotiate her betrothal with Rickon and without her input. She holds back the comment, though, content that Aegon is willing to take her at her word. Aegon seems entirely willing to forget the matter, though, asking her for another walk about the yard. Shireen is surprised that he resumes their previous manner so quickly.

They talk amiably for the next hour, discussing matters of the realm. Aegon does ask her for advice: starting with a few matters that have been troubling King’s Landing and ending up back at his issue of finding another to take to wife, particularly as Daenerys hoped for him to have a northern marriage. Shireen offers little assistance here, only suggesting that he ask the women themselves instead of bartering for their hand in marriage.

Aegon laughs at that, leading her back into the keep for dinner. He takes her up to the seats they have taken the past few nights, helping her into her seat. As they eat, Aegon continues to jest with her and jape with her, making her laugh and become engaged in the conversation.

Before any thoughts of ulterior motives can cross her mind, Shireen realizes that she _could_ have a happy marriage with Aegon. He could keep her safe in the South, offer her whatever future she wanted, give her intelligent conversation, and give her a position where she wouldn’t be belittled. The idea barely has the chance to form when Shireen disregards it. Had Rickon not given her exactly that? It is under Rickon’s protection that she is safe from threat. Rickon has already given her the opportunity to choose her own husband and future, even if she were to leave. He often asks her for counsel and advice when making decisions that affect the North, and he never once made her out to be less than her position, even when his men refuse to acknowledge her.

Shireen smiles to herself, remembering that Rickon is _here_ , that she will see him tonight, and she glances up expecting to see him sitting beside her. Instead, it is Aegon, who must have said something clever because he looks proud of the reaction she gave.

“It was, I swear,” he says enthusiastically. “Absolutely the largest puddle on the entire ride, and I landed flat on my arse in it!”

Shireen laughs now, realizing that he has been telling her a story that she knows nothing about. However, she knows how to move forward. “The largest?” she questions. “Did you fall in completely? Mayhaps it was a lake.”

“You mock me, lady,” Aegon says haughtily, stabbing randomly at his plate. He shakes a carrot at her. “Why need I lie about being soaked in my breeches for an entire day’s ride?”

Shrugging, Shireen quickly puts something on her fork. “For a better story,” she suggests. “Or to make your reaction reasonable. Lest I hear from one of your men that it was merely a splash of water on your boots.”

Aegon shakes his head slowly. “You accuse me of lying for a story? I should be insulted.”

“Or mayhap I, for being taken for a fool,” Shireen shoots back.

For a moment, Aegon’s face stays in a hard line. Then, a laugh slowly takes him over. He reaches out, gently placing a hand on her arm as he laughs, ducking his head down before throwing it back.

Shireen smiles to herself again, looking back down at her plate. As she slowly chews, all she hears is Aegon’s laughter, and she realizes that the hall is unnaturally silent. The laughter is choked down quickly, and Shireen looks to Aegon confusedly. He is frozen at his seat, his mouth in a tight line as he stares down at the blade at his neck. Shireen doesn’t even have to follow the steel up to know who is holding it up.

“Lower your sword,” Shireen says as softly and sharply as she can.

Rickon’s eyes flash over to her, and she sees the anger overshadowing the wear in his eyes. They are ringed with red, and she is certain that something other than this distresses him. Rickon doesn’t let anything else show, though. He tenses his body, shoving the blade closer to Aegon’s throat. “Not until I know who sits my seat next to my lady betrothed.”

“Your Grace,” Aegon mumbles out. His voice is as strong as it can be with live steel so close. “I’m Aeg—”

“He is our guest,” Shireen hisses out. “He has had several meals in Winterfell, and you _will not_ break guest right.”

A moment passes in silence. Shireen feels the tension in the hall, knows that every set of eyes is on them, waiting to see if Rickon will slay the heir to the Iron Throne. He lowers the sword slowly, and Shireen glares at him until he sheathes the sword completely. Rickon looks back to her, and he still looks angry despite all the other emotions beneath the surface. Shireen never breaks eye contact with him, hoping that he will realize himself.

Aegon clears his throat awkwardly. “Please—”

“A word, princess,” Rickon interrupts. Without waiting for a response, Rickon strides out of the hall, down to the corridor where their rooms are.

Sighing deeply, Shireen follows after him, not bothering to look back. After all, she hopes that she knows the reason he seeks seclusion. Rickon remains five paces ahead of her, going straight to her rooms and letting himself in. He falls into a chair, hanging his head in his hands. Following her ingrained habits, Shireen makes to the window first, opening it wide.

“Who is he?” Rickon mumbles from his hands.

“Aegon Targaryen,” Shireen responds. “He came to present gifts to you and stayed as our guest until your return.”

Rickon looks up, possibly angrier than before. “A Targaryen?” he asks. “You allowed a Targaryen to stay as a guest when they tried to kill you?”

“Aegon would never harm me,” Shireen defends. As much as she doesn’t wish to tell Rickon about his offer, she can’t let him think her so naïve.

Rickon catches the intonation, the meaning of her words. “He offered to wed you,” Rickon says. Though Shireen cannot hear discernible anger in his voice, she is certain of the backlash that will follow. She cannot lie to Rickon, though.

“He did,” she says.

Standing quickly, Rickon paces her room, the chair falling to the floor. “Am I not welcome here, then?” he asks. “Has he claimed your bed? Should I ready a party to escort you south?”

“He has done nothing,” Shireen shoots back. “He has respected my wishes and orders when given.”

Rickon is silent for a beat. “You let him touch you.”

“My arm,” Shireen shoots back. “He was permitted my arm, as high-borns allow to walk together.”

Rickon scowls deeply, looking at her face. “You weren’t walking,” he shoots back, too quick. Rickon stands, taking a few steps closer to her. “He wanted more.”

Shireen groans, storming around the end of the room and trying to gather her thoughts. “Regardless of his pretty words, he would never have it,” Shireen tells him, her temper mellowing out. “In case you have forgotten, I am forbidden from going to the South.”

This does nothing to satiate Rickon, and he takes a few long steps toward her, putting only the featherbed between them. “As if he could not change that,” he spits out. “He’s Daenerys’s… family. He could do as he wishes. You could be his—is that not what you seek? A proper high-born man who’s never fucked another to take you to bed? Some proper lordling to make you his and put flowers in your hair?”

The fury mounting in Shireen grows, and she strides across the chamber quickly. While she was looking forward to Rickon’s homecoming, this was not how she imagined their reunion. She marches straight up to his chest, taking pride when fear crosses Rickon’s eyes for a brief moment. “I do not belong to _anyone_ ,” she tells him sharply. “I am mine own person, no matter who fucks me or weds me.”

Rickon’s eyes narrow, and the challenge returns just as quickly. “You wouldn’t play wife to a proper lord, then?” he asks. “Or become a proper lady of court with a proper lord like _Aegon_?” He spits out the word as if it is more vulgar than the language he typically uses. “I’m willing to wager that he has come to desire you, to want you, fallen for your wit and cleverness… He’d take you South.”

Before Shireen can even think to stop herself, she slaps Rickon clear across the face. He looks ready to retaliate, but freezes when he meets her eyes. “No one can take me,” she says sharply. “I will never return to the South, and if he tried to take me against my will, I’d have hoped that you would stop him. Perhaps I am wrong.”

She turns from him, then, crossing her arms over her chest. With a deep breath, she tries to steady herself, to reorganize her thoughts. She feels tired from the exchange, and she blames her moonblood for making her so weak. While she hoped that Rickon would be everything she hoped for, he still has a poor grasp on her wants. Shireen flinches when Rickon touches her, his hand skimming her shoulder before she jumps away.

Rickon looks confused, slightly concerned with his anger abating. He opens his mouth but doesn’t speak for a moment. “I—you would want me to?”

Rolling her eyes, Shireen walks back into Rickon. He steps away, again looking afraid of her approach. Shireen continues on until he is completely pressed against the wall. Rickon looks terrified until Shireen scrapes her nails through his overgrown beard. His mouth twitches into a smile, and Shireen sighs. “You silly man,” she says gently. Then, she rocks up onto her toes, kissing him full on the mouth. “I would want you to almost as much as I wish for you to shave.”

Now, it is Rickon’s turn to frown. He scowls even though Shireen trails her fingers down his chest, hooking them into his breeches. “I don’t like shaving,” he says simply.

“A shame,” Shireen says with a smile. “I quite like seeing your face.”

Rickon slowly begins grinning, dipping his head down to brush his beard over her neck, scratching at her skin. Shireen yelps, but Rickon continues on, finding her mouth to kiss her. He deepens the kiss hungrily, and Shireen remembers how long it’s been since they’ve had each other. Shireen ignores how much his beard pricks at her skin and allows herself to get lost in the kiss, pleased at having something closer to what she imagined from him. She grins at him when they finally part.

“I think you’d grow to enjoy it,” Rickon tells her.

Shireen leans into his chest, closing her eyes. “I’d enjoy it better if you’d apologize to Aegon,” she tells him. “He _is_ our guest.”

“Of course, princess,” Rickon says, leaning down to kiss the crown of her head. “I will see to it immediately.”

“Leave your sword,” Shireen suggests, watching him make for the door. Rickon gives her a tired smile before he removes the belt and drops his sword on the overturned chair. After he leaves, Shireen straightens up her room, righting the chair and preparing for the night. Just as she makes to clean her smallclothes, a horrible lurching sensation pulls at her stomach. Doubling over, Shireen presses her hands to the pain, hoping to make it subside.

She slowly sinks to the floor, waiting for it to pass. It dissipates quickly, but Shireen waits on the floor, still feeling drained from the events of the day. She nearly nods off against the chair, but a hand on her shoulder brings her to.

The room is significantly warmer than before, and Shireen blinks her eyes open slowly. Rickon greets her with a smile before scooping her into his arms and carrying her to bed. Relaxing against him, Shireen forgets the reason why she didn’t want to move when a small shock of pain reminds her.

“I need to clean myself,” she mumbles out, embarrassed at making Rickon deal with her problems.

Nodding, Rickon unties her gown gently, easing her out of it. It isn’t until he reaches for her smallclothes that Shireen realizes he means to finish the task.

“No, I—”

“Allow me, princess,” Rickon says gently.

Shireen mumbles out an incoherent sound, but Rickon persists. He removes her smallclothes, taking them to be washed in clean water before he sets water over the fire to heat. Shireen watches him from her bed, hoping that he remembers to clothe her again. She hears the faint sound of water drops trickling down before Rickon returns, sitting near her hip and rubbing a damp, warm cloth between her legs. Shireen hums, letting out a low, content sound as Rickon cleans any remnants of the mess. He clumsily puts her smallclothes back on her before sliding down between the sheets with her.

“Would you like Shaggydog?” Rickon asks, sliding his hands over her stomach.

Rolling onto her side, Shireen simply tucks herself into his chest. She holds his hand against her abdomen, pressing it tighter. “I missed you,” she mumbles.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,” Rickon responds, kissing her hair. 

Shireen nods slowly, drifting off quickly with the familiar weight against her once more.


	12. Chapter 12

Shireen isn’t surprised to wake up in the middle of the night. Rickon seems to have never fallen asleep, and Shireen easily recalls the feeling of his mouth continuously on her skin even through the hazed layer of sleep over her. The soft of his lips is framed with the scratch of his beard on every movement, and Shireen is sure that she has more than a few marks from his fascination. However, the wet of his tongue gently rubs them away and Shireen lets the moan that’s been building up leave her.

Rickon’s entire body shakes with a chuckle. He tightens his arms over her stomach, pressing her back into him, and Shireen can feel the arousal of him twitching at her legs. “Did I wake you, princess?” Rickon murmurs, softly nibbling at her ear.

“Yes,” Shireen says, rolling over slightly to look at him. She lets a hand drift down between them, already prepared to find him unclothed and hard. “But I’m not surprised.”

The smile that spreads over Rickon’s face lights him up completely. He taps his nose against her shoulder, spurring her to continue. “They were the longest days without you, princess,” he says. Rickon presses his hips into her hand, making her stroke the length of him and poking into her backside. “It’s a shame to have you on your moonblood.”

Shireen’s face flushes, already having forgotten that he is entirely unclothed while she deals with the problems of being a woman. She has spent the past sennight longing for his return, and she rather thinks that she would like having him as well. Rubbing her hand over his hip, Shireen thinks out loud. “If the mess wouldn’t be a concern…”

Rickon automatically moves over her, placing his knees on either side of her hips. Blinking up at him, Shireen hides her laugh. His eagerness is apparent, though, and Shireen feels him fighting the urge to press into her. “How would it feel?” Rickon asks, leaning down to kiss her. Then, he clarifies, “with your moonsickness?”

“I’d not know, would I?” Shireen asks back, rolling her eyes. “You’re the only man I’ve ever been with.”

Kissing her deeply, Rickon runs his hands down her until he crashes into her smallclothes. Rubbing his fingers around to her back, Rickon takes his time slowly digging his fingers under them. It becomes enough that Shireen starts squeezing her legs together in frustration. Laughing at her, Rickon finally pulls them off, tossing them with surprising accuracy into the basin of water. Shireen squirms for a long while, slowly becoming comfortable with Rickon being so close when she feels so vulnerable. 

Somehow, Rickon knows how to ease her into it. He kisses her slowly and leisurely, dropping his weight over her. After a while, it becomes obvious that Rickon can feel whatever moisture is between her legs. No longer does Shireen care if it is from arousal or moonsickness. She only cares that Rickon is with her again, and she can have him again. It is with an astonishing amount of natural movements that he spreads her legs apart and slowly slides into her.

The groan that leaves him is deeper than before, more guttural. Rickon lets out a heavy sigh, mumbling out an incoherent sound. Shireen slides a hand behind his neck, pulling him back for a kiss as he starts thrusting into her. The heat builds in her immediately, pooling in her lower stomach. Rickon groans louder, sliding his hands under her and hugging her to his body. He fills her up so thoroughly and completely that it takes Shireen’s mind away. She allows the feeling to completely encompass her, paying little attention to Rickon’s mouth. Holding onto him, Shireen blinks up at him when he changes their pace.

Leaning down to her ear, Rickon murmurs out another string of unintelligible syllables. Though Shireen can’t understand his meaning, she has a general grasp of their rhythm by now. Rocking her hips up, Shireen meets Rickon thrust for thrust, and they both start murmuring out encouraging sounds to each other until they hit their peaks at the same time, pulsing into and around each other with greater force than Shireen remembers.

Grasping onto him, Shireen lowers him over her body, relaxing under his weight. Rickon cuddles into her neck with a lazy smile on his face, and he sweeps his fingers over her shoulder. Even when Shireen realizes that he is still inside of her and can feel whatever is happening to her body, another thought moves forward. Before she can speak it, Rickon rolls off her, leaving the bed back to the basin of water. Shireen flushes, feeling all the heat in her body rush to her face. Surely, everything about her bed looks awful now.

Rickon spends some time cleaning himself off before coming back with a clean rag in his hand. Again, he takes his time running it over her hips and mopping up any of the mess. Shireen is surprised at how concentrated he looks, particularly since she is so averse to her moonblood. Cleaning it up, Rickon almost looks normal, and he wrestles the sheet out from under her. With some searching, he locates another sheet, sliding it into its proper place before he remembers to put her back in her smallclothes. Then, he curls up around her, placing his hand over her stomach once more.

Shireen turns in her place to look at him, trying to remember what she wanted to ask before the thought flees. “What language was that?”

Rickon gives her a confused look for a while. His brow furrows until he chuckles. “Um… it’s like the Old Tongue,” he tells her. “The Skagosi speak a form of it.”

“Teach me,” Shireen says, filled with determination at learning a new skill.

With a smile, Rickon rolls out a sound from the back of his throat. It’s short and clipped, with clanging sounds that seem to crash together even though Rickon’s tongue forms them perfectly. Shireen attempts to mimic the noise, making Rickon laugh. She hits him across the chest, trying again. Laughing louder, Rickon repeats the sound, chopping it up in a poor attempt at enunciation. It helps some, but Shireen still struggles to make her tongue wrap around the syllables. After a long time, Rickon nods. He repeats the word and then says, “ _Hello_.”

“Hello?” Shireen asks, raising her eyebrows at him.

Nodding again, Rickon kisses her temple. He repeats the noise again, adding on a long string of sounds that intimidates her in their complexity. Shireen shakes her head quickly. She fumbles through the entire phrase that he said. Rickon laughs, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her close.

“Not quite,” he chuckles out. He repeats the new phrase slowly, leaving his eyes closed as he rests against her shoulder. They go back and forth repeating the phrase for a long while until Rickon drifts off against her shoulder. Shireen nearly wakes him to hear it again, but she remembers his long day and leaves him to rest. She eventually makes it to sleep herself, storing the sloppy new words in the back of her mind for later.

 

 

The next day feels normal. Shireen has forgotten entirely about having Aegon in Winterfell, not leaving her rooms in favor of cleaning them from last night’s activities. Rickon was gone again in the morning, most likely trying to fall back into his duties, but Shireen expects it now. As she is wringing out a section of her ruined sheet, a timid knock comes from her door.

“Enter,” Shireen calls, tucking the sheet out of sight.

A serving girl takes half a step inside, bowing her head down. “His Grace has asked for you,” she mumbles.

“Ri—Lo—King Stark?” Shireen asks, fumbling over the names until she remembers that she shouldn’t be calling him ‘lord.’

The serving girl nods, looking up through her eyelashes. “Yes. He is in his chambers,” she responds, looking up sheepishly.

“Of course,” Shireen responds. She hurries out to the door, wondering what concerns Rickon enough for him to send someone to her. She knocks on Rickon’s door once before it is wrenched open, and he sweeps away from it. Rickon strides over to a far chair, circling it before settling down with his arms crossed. Slowly, Shireen steps inside, shutting the door behind her. “You called for me, my lord?”

“The Targaryen has requested a meal with us tonight,” Rickon says, scowling. He only turns to her marginally. “He wishes to present his gift.”

“Should I dress appropriately?” Shireen asks, taking a step closer to him and realizing that something is off.

Rickon shrugs, turning farther away. “Whatever you wish to wear, princess,” he says.

Rolling her eyes, Shireen walks entirely around him, determined to get a look at whatever he’s hiding. She nearly falls forward laughing when she does. Rickon has either attempted to shave or been forced to, and a poor job has been made of his face. Nothing has been removed entirely in any sort of systematic way, leaving his face patchy and leaving him looking more like a child. Rickon’s scowl only deepens. 

“I’ll not fix it,” he says stubbornly, trying to glare at her from beneath his scowl.

Shireen’s giggles subside, and she composes herself. “Of course, my lord,” she says, strolling through his rooms. She finds a discarded blade and a damp cloth. Making her way to the water over the fire, Shireen rinses out the fabric. “It is _very_ appropriate for one of your station.”

“I don’t care,” Rickon mumbles, slumping in his seat. “The Targaryen is clean enough for all of us.”

Laughing, Shireen makes her way over to him. She drapes the wet fabric over the back of his chair before facing him with the blade. “I’ll not leave you looking unkempt,” she says.

Rickon’s frown deepens. “I’m not shaving.”

“Not personally,” Shireen replies leaning over him and trying to get at his face with the blade. She frowns at how his knees get in the way, trying to move around him properly. After little success and with Rickon being so uncooperative, Shireen picks up her skirts so she can sit over his lap, facing him. Rickon looks confused even as she grabs his face in her hands and rubs the hot cloth over his chin.

“Have you ever used a blade, princess?” Rickon asks.

“More than you’d guess,” Shireen replies, adjusting the blade to the angle of his cheek. She slowly runs the steel against the give of him, being careful not to draw blood. After a smooth pass, Shireen cleans off the blade. In the interim, Rickon sits up, jostling her a bit until he settles at a much better height for shaving. Shireen smiles at him, wiping his chin and making another pass with the blade.

The room becomes silent with both of them concentrating so hard. Rickon has become as still as a statue, and Shireen bites her tongue to keep her hand steady as she shaves him. He moves easily to every adjustment she makes, and he doesn’t flinch at all when she runs the blade directly over his jugular. Skimming her fingers lightly over his skin, Shireen finds all the patches she missed and makes them smooth. When the job is finished, Shireen tosses the blade on his desk and takes up the damp cloth. She rubs it over his face, picking up anything that remains.

She feels Rickon’s hands flex on her hips and realizes that she didn’t know they were there. He tilts his face up to her, straightening out his back and brushing her lips with his nose. With a smile, Shireen leans down, taking his mouth with hers. Rickon’s hands slide up her back, holding her close as he deepens the kiss. Shireen pushes back into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and letting her hair fall around him. A light moan comes from between them, and Shireen isn’t sure who made it, only that they are right. Finding his tongue with hers, Shireen kisses him back before she slowly pulls away.

Rickon’s smile makes her yearn for him again. She’s tempted by his proximity, and she knows that she would gladly remain in his rooms for however long he asked it of her. Duty pulls at her, though, and she allows herself to draw away, shifting awkwardly off his lap. For some reason, the words from last night come to her mind, and she tries to growl out the Skagosi words that her mouth refuses to form properly. Chuckling, Rickon shakes his head. He repeats them properly, sounding more fluent and eloquent than he usually does in the common tongue. Shireen repeats it again, moving the things back to where she found them.

Crossing the room in quick steps, Rickon kisses her deeply. He wraps his arms around her waist. When he breaks the kiss, he dips his head down to growl the sound in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. Frozen in place, Shireen lets Rickon kiss her forehead and leave the room, again forgetting to ask him about the meaning behind the words.

Shireen resolves to do so later that day, but she doesn’t have a chance in the chaos that follows. Rickon maintains his cold, distant demeanor toward Aegon, and Shireen can easily guess at what happened last night during his apology. She largely expects Rickon to continue acting as he has, but he falters when Aegon has his men bring the gift forth. Immediately, Rickon freezes and a distant howl echoes loudly throughout the wolfswood and bleeds into Winterfell. With a terse command, Rickon sends everyone away, reaching out for Shireen’s hand and clutching onto it tightly. Glancing over to him, Shireen finds a hard look on his face that refuses to soften until the room is clear. 

As soon as the door shuts, Rickon’s knees buckle. He closes his eyes tight and loosens his hand before grasping onto her more firmly. Slowly, he hunches down and falls to his knees. Following him down, Shireen runs a hand over his shoulders, coaxing him into her. Rickon turns slowly, as if overcome with exhaustion. He curls up around her waist, leaving his head in her lap as his body starts shaking. Combing her fingers through his hair, Shireen waits with him, uncertain at what has caused this grief. 

Shaggydog finds his way into the room, sniffing at the crate for a moment before he starts whining. Rickon beckons him over, and the direwolf joins them before Rickon composes himself. He sits up minimally, leaning against Shireen’s chest.

“Will you come with me?” Rickon asks. He blinks up at her slowly, but his arms hold her firmly about her waist. Shireen nods, combing through his hair with nimble fingers. Another minute passes before Rickon stands, offering her a hand to help her up. Shireen takes it, standing before him. Toying with her hair, Rickon brushes it behind her shoulder, kissing her forehead before he takes her hand again.

They follow Shaggydog through the keep, finding all the corridors empty. The direwolf carries the crate that Aegon gave them between his fangs, pushing open doors clumsily with his shoulder before leading them outside. Shireen glances over to the solemn look on Rickon’s face.

“Where are we going?” she asks softly, leaning into his arm.

Rickon closes his eyes, following Shaggydog on instinct. “The crypts,” he says, as they follow Shaggydog into a secluded area. The direwolf disappears down a narrow staircase, and Rickon follows him, grabbing a torch off the wall to light the way. Shireen looks around at the dark stone of the wall rarely touched by light.

It is a quiet walk down, with only the sound of their feet on stone echoing down into the depths. Shireen briefly wonders how deep they’ll go, how many Kings of Winter are at rest in the ground around her. Rickon gently pulls her out into a dark, damp corridor, and Shireen sees the recesses carved out for the Starks. A few are marked with statues, bearing great resemblance to the people residing within. Shireen looks into a few of them, finding a sort of beauty in the entire history of the Starks here. Rickon pauses, glancing over to a crypt. Shireen looks over, finding the place marked out for Eddard Stark.

“I put his bones to rest just yesterday,” Rickon murmurs. He blinks up at the statue of his father and runs a hand down the rusted blade in his hand. “I had taken this blade years ago, when I was forced to run to Skagos.”

Shireen nods, giving his hand a light squeeze. Rickon sighs, giving her a gentle smile.

“Every spot is assigned,” he tells her. “My mother’s crypt is empty—her bones were never found. But my brothers’…” 

Rickon glances over to the crate. Ignoring it, he walks to the large stone tomb, using all of his weight to remove the top just far enough. His hands start shaking when he reaches for the crate, and Shireen stops him. She pulls him away from the crate, back into the open area of the crypts. Rickon crumbles before her, leaning into her and shaking with a sob. Helping him to the ground, Shireen holds him firmly, letting him be vulnerable. When he starts to settle, Shireen beckons Shaggydog over, asking him down to support Rickon.

Edging away from him, Shireen walks back into the tomb. She cracks open the crate that holds the bones of Robb Stark and is only a little surprised to find the bones of his direwolf with him. Carefully, Shireen pulls them out, placing them into the tomb in the closest resemblance to a human and direwolf that she can make. She takes her time, hoping to do Robb Stark justice, and makes her way back over to Rickon when she’s done. Shaggydog leaves them for a moment, using his massive form to close up the tomb. When Shaggydog curls back around them, Rickon moves back around Shireen, resting over her chest.

“We all have a place here,” he tells her softly. “One for every Stark who’s ever held Winterfell,” he tilts his head over to an empty tomb, “even I already know where I’ll be buried when I die, with Shaggydog and my wife beside me. Bran, too, if he ever comes back… But Robb… I don’t even remember him.”

Shireen sighs, dipping her fingers into his curls and combing them out softly. “Robb Stark was a good man,” she tells him. “He declared war on the South after your father’s murder and for keeping your sisters captive. My father admired him, particularly for his skill in battle. He never left his men to fend for themselves. He fought alongside them in the thick of battle. I was told that he took after your mother like you do, and he kept his direwolf with him whenever he could.”

Rickon chuckles, leaning further into her and looking over to the tomb. His arms find their way around her again, holding her firmly. Sliding her fingers through his hair, Shireen tells Rickon everything she remembers about his family, everything her lessons have ever told her. She continues on, murmuring into his ear until she grows drowsy and nods off.

She doesn’t remember returning to her rooms, but she is certain that Rickon carried her there. Everything about her sleep that night is filled with peace, even though Rickon threatens to wake her every hour with light kisses to her neck. She feels him against her, curled under her chin with his hands spanning her back. 

Rickon is much more amiable toward Aegon for the remainder of his stay. Though it is obvious that Rickon is so much younger than him, they get along well, and Shireen watches on at the obvious differences in how they were taught to rule. His patience is continuously put to the test whenever Aegon asks for a moment with Shireen, but Rickon relinquishes her. He always comes back to her in full force, though, kissing her deeply and thoroughly.

“There is a guest in Winterfell, my lord,” Shireen tells him. She lets the smallest hint of a reprimand seep into her voice, even though she doesn’t wish to stop kissing him.

Rickon rolls his eyes. “That would be why I’ve not taken you outside your chambers,” he growls out, taking her face in his hands. Rickon smirks, growling out a short few syllables before kissing her deeply.

Shireen has largely grown used to this. Rickon often slips into the Old Tongue around her now, sprinkling their conversations with the harsh language. She finds it interesting, always repeating the words when she can. Occasionally, she remembers to ask Rickon for their meaning, but he only tells her a few of them. More often than not, they both get caught up in intimacy, forgetting whatever was spoken beforehand. However, Rickon soon shortens their kisses. He pecks her lips repeatedly, taking them between his teeth as he growls out the same sound.

After a long while, Shireen places her hands over his, stilling him. “What is that word?” she asks, making a poor attempt at repeating it.

Rickon does so with ease, having her mimic him until he is satisfied that it sounds correct. He brushes his hands over her shoulders, as if it will help coax the sound out of her. Then, he says, “ _Princess_.”

Heat rushes to her face, but Shireen tries to keep her composure. “And how would I call you lord?”

Smirking, Rickon growls out another sound.

Shireen repeats it, creating another back and forth until Rickon nods. Saying the word again, Shireen looks up at him. “Lord?” she asks.

“ _King_ ,” Rickon corrects. He wears a playful smile proudly, as if he has somehow convinced her that he should have another title. 

However, Shireen can’t help but find another meaning to his words: that he has completely stepped into his position as King in the North, and she thinks he may be ready for a coronation soon. With a smile, Shireen puts her hands over his chest. Pressing up to her toes, she kisses him again. Rickon responds immediately, pressing her back for a while. His hands return to her face, brushing her cheeks lightly as he deepens their kiss. Shireen tilts her face up further, helping him along. Slowing down the kiss, Rickon returns to nipping at her skin, catching her lips between his teeth and pulling them gently.

Movement in her peripheral vision makes Shireen glance away, and she is completely embarrassed to find Aegon staring at them in the secluded corridor. Shying away from Rickon, Shireen bows her face down. He is confused for a short moment before he finds Aegon. The staring match is short, but long enough that Rickon’s hands slide down her arms, tugging her closer to his body. Looking up slowly, Shireen recognizes the pass between them: men silently communicating. Before Shireen can read either expression, Rickon’s hand slides behind her neck and he presses her close to kiss her deeply.

When his tongue moves into her mouth, Shireen forgets everything. She is lightheaded from the attention, from having him as no one else has. Her fingers grasp at his chest, trying to hold up her own weight before she falls. Rickon catches her with his other hand, supporting her lower back and keeping her consumed by the kiss.

“I thought Shaggydog was a good sentry,” Shireen comments, leaning against Rickon’s chest and hugging him gently. She doesn’t know how long he has kept her away from the keep, only that she still has duties before the day ends.

Rickon hums lightly and runs his hands over her back. “He is,” Rickon assures her. “Shaggy wanted us to be found by him.”

“He did?” Shireen asks, looking up at him. “Why’s that?”

Smiling, Rickon leans down to her neck, hugging her tight. “He doesn’t want you to leave.”

 

 

“It seems every northern lady has fallen for the king,” Aegon tells Shireen. He is readying his horse, preparing for his journey south. Shireen is surprised at his gall, particularly as Rickon only stands a few feet away. “Is it only he who can call you princess?”

“Aegon,” Shireen warns, not wanting anyone nearby to catch their conversation.

“Of course, Lady Baratheon,” Aegon says. He leans down, whispering in her ear. “Be sure I receive an invitation to your wedding.”

Shireen flushes, not wishing to let the thought grow past his remark. Aegon laughs loudly at his jape. He has certainly come to the same conclusions from both Shireen and Rickon, and he kept to his word and made no further advances. Shireen doesn’t know exactly what Rickon and Aegon discussed in private, but she knows that Rickon has her heart regardless.

Watching Aegon go, Shireen tries to keep his words from her thoughts. Rickon has already told her several times that he has no wishes to be wed, that he would only marry if it were forced of him, and she cannot stand the thought of being the one to make him do that. After all, she has what she wants from him. If they are happy, why should she complicate things further?


	13. Chapter 13

As if Rickon had never been gone, the normal beats of their relationship return. He shares her bed, kisses her whenever he can, and fucks her at every opportunity. Shireen enjoys it more than she will admit, but she is always left with excessive thoughts come the morning. After a long minute of staring at her moon tea, Shireen shoves the pouch away, going off after Rickon. She knows her feelings for him well. Almost four years of living with him, and almost six months of bedding him, she knows exactly what he means to her, what having him means to her. They may have both sworn off marriage, but they are perfectly capable of living their lives however they please.

Shireen frowns when she finds Rickon. He is deep in conversation with Lady Lyanna, looking far too serious. Lyanna catches her eye first, gesturing over to Rickon who stops talking immediately. He turns to her with a heavy swallow. Taking steady steps and smiling, he walks over to her, toying with her fingers. Shireen looks over his shoulder, watching Lyanna roll her eyes before walking away. Frowning harder, Shireen turns back to Rickon.

“What’s wrong, princess?” he asks, dipping his head down to kiss her forehead.

“What were you discussing?” she asks back, knitting her brows.

Rickon’s cheeks flush lightly. “Oh, her mother was one of my father’s council,” he admits sheepishly. “And I wanted to know more about him.”

“Oh,” Shireen murmurs. The muscles in her face relaxing. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing,” Rickon says back. He kisses her hair again. “It only just occurred to me. I should have warned you.”

“No, no,” Shireen says quickly. She shakes her head, wrapping her mind around the thought again. “I understand.”

Rickon nods, offering his arm properly so they can walk together. He leads them out to the yard where it is snowing lightly. Shireen smiles and looks around until she finds Shaggydog running through the freshly fallen powder. She follows Rickon around the yard, waiting out his silence. Eventually, Rickon clears his throat loudly.

“It would seem the Skagosi are having a hard time managing,” he tells her. “Even with the man I left as _magnar_ , they are rebelling and threatening war.”

“ _Magnar?_ ” Shireen questions.

“‘Lord’,” Rickon supplies casually, watching her with an amused expression as she repeats the term several times. She nods to herself when she thinks she has it, looking content. Rickon chuckles. “Sending word to help is no use. No Skagosi can read, and most don’t know the common tongue. I may have to send wildlings in my place.”

“You trust them?” Shireen asks.

Rickon nods, letting his arm loosen so he can take her hand. “Yes,” he says. His brow furrows, and Shireen can see another source of distress in him. “Princess, with Lyanna—I was only—”

“It’s fine,” Shireen cuts him off quickly. Rickon gives her a sheepish look, and Shireen does her best at giving him an encouraging smile. “Truly. I trust you.”

Lifting her hand up, Rickon presses a kiss to her knuckles. He rubs at her fingers gently before letting them fall down. Rickon licks his lips slowly, and Shireen can only imagine what is running through his head. She takes the smallest step possible toward him, but Rickon doesn’t seem to notice. The moment passes, and Rickon shakes his head quickly.

“I will see you later, princess,” he tells her. With a quick smile, Rickon heads over to the practice yard. 

Shireen follows after him slowly. Her heart pounds in her chest from every one of their interactions, however small they may be. She was never one to be lost in fantasy, preferring history to romance in her stories, but Rickon has sparked something entirely different in her. Her mind jumps to conclusions whenever he is around, and she has somehow allowed herself to imagine a future sitting the throne beside him, having his heirs, and sharing a tomb with him forever. Laughing the thought away, Shireen looks down to the snow. 

It is too much. Forever is too long. But _now_ has lasted so far.

Biting her lips, Shireen returns to her room. She shuffles through her things until she locates the moon tea. Though she has certainly come to terms with having his children, she never mentioned such a thing to Rickon. She could always claim that her child is a bastard but keeping the truth from him would destroy her. Gripping the pouch tight, Shireen tosses it back down. She would just have to approach him directly about the topic and find a way to let him know that he need not marry her.

With a loud groan, Shireen flops down on her bed. A part of her wishes that Rickon was less understanding, that he just wedded her and bedded her for an heir while they were still betrothed. Shireen never expected to fall in love with him. She never wanted it until she had him. However, she doesn’t know where he stands on this matter. Is he expecting her to leave still? Is he attached to the idea of sharing a bed with her? Does he count as one of the acceptable lords for her to choose as husband?

No. He can’t be. Rickon is King in the North. He is welcome to wed and bed whoever he wishes, and the whims of an exiled princess will have no affects whatsoever on his decision. It is likely that he has already chosen a bride, and that he has arranged to marry another lady. Rickon is probably just waiting for her to be gone before he sets his plans into motion.

Again, Shireen finds herself thinking far too seriously about offering herself as his mistress. Surely, if they enjoy each other now, he won’t be completely averse to the idea of bedding her after his marriage. She could have his bastards, or ask him to name them Baratheons. It wouldn’t affect his throne in the slightest, nor would his wife have to worry about the line of inheritance. 

Sighing loudly, Shireen hugs a pillow close to her stomach. She wonders when her life became so overly-complicated. Perhaps it always was, and she was just too naïve to realize it.

Moping about her rooms for the rest of the day, Shireen exhausts herself thinking through all the possibilities. There are far too many for her liking, and a distressing number of them involve her leaving and never seeing Rickon again. Before she can even think to stop for dinner, Shireen walks her way out to the godswood. She doesn’t have any inclination of whether or not praying was helpful last time, but she can’t help but wish for help in making this decision.

On her knees before the Heart Tree, Shireen stares up at the face carved into it. She remembers seeing a Heart Tree when she was much younger, and she can clearly recall being frightened by the face. Now, however, she faces it boldly, though words do not come to her aid.

Shaggydog does, though. He walks up to her slowly, padding through the snow until he places his head on her shoulder. Instinctively, Shireen lifts up a hand. She strokes his snout absently, leaning against the warmth of him.

“If you still like me, does that mean Rickon does, too?” she asks the direwolf. Shireen turns until she faces him directly. Shaggydog responds by licking over the side of her face. Rubbing between his ears in response, Shireen looks over to the hot spring. The last time she was in there was moons ago, when Rickon dug her out of the snow. Now, she needs that kind of comfort.

Slowly, Shireen pulls at the laces of her gown. She steps out of her boots, pressing her feet to the warm ground around the hot spring. Trying to beat the chill, Shireen removes her gown and smallclothes as fast as she can. Tugging her arms tight to her chest, she walks into the water, letting it seep deep into her skin. Shireen lets out a loud sigh. She sinks into the pool until her shoulders are covered and dips her head back to wet her hair.

Memories of her last experience in the hot spring come back vividly. She can imagine the dig of the bank’s pebbles on her back, and how Rickon held her so assuredly. He never let her go, keeping her afloat and supported in the water. Curiously, Shireen walks deeper into the pool, stretching up onto her toes and letting herself sink further down until she is afraid to go farther. The hot spring is bigger than she expects and far deeper. Taking a deep breath, Shireen toes her way sideways, finding the areas of safety for her to stay in.

“Can you even swim?”

Shireen turns sharply, seeking out the source of the voice and wondering who has caught her bathing in the moonlight. As she expects, Rickon is sitting on the bank. He sits down, leaning back onto his sleeping direwolf. A smirk rests on his face, and he looks far too comfortable watching her. Pursing her lips, Shireen walks over to the bank closest to him. Resting her arms on the ground, Shireen leans up to him as best she can. Rickon leans forward at the same time, and Shireen feels a stronger pull toward him.

It takes her a moment to remember his question. “I was never taught,” she tells him. “But I’ve never drowned.”

Rickon grins at her. “I should take you to the Skagosi sea,” he says. “You can learn there as I did.”

Her heart flutters at the thought. Shireen digs her elbows into the ground, making her body rock as her legs drift out behind her. Rickon’s gaze rakes over her body every time her skin floats up to the surface of the hot spring. It is so instantaneous that Shireen isn’t entirely sure if the shivers she feels are from the cold. Her brain is still consumed by the thought that Rickon wants to take her to where he grew up—where _his_ memories are.

Shireen cannot make herself think straight. She is so consumed by inferences and possibilities, and she doesn’t know how to make sense of it. Already, she has forced herself to think on the most outrageous outcomes in attempt to prepare herself for anything that Rickon will throw at her. Again, she finds that she is not ready in the slightest for his words. Were she a maiden in a song, she might have sung, might have asked him to be her lord husband. But Shireen has never looked kindly on marriage, not when it has only been likened to a curse in her family.

Even so, Rickon is King— _her_ king. She has already offered to serve as his Hand, help with matters of his council, and assist him however she can. Shireen herself is responsible for breaking their betrothal, and she has only come to regret it. Shutting her eyes tight, Shireen tries to stop herself from imagining the worst. She reaches out a hand to Rickon, beckoning him closer.

Rickon moves over her, crouching down to his knees. He ignores her hand entirely, taking her face in his hands and kissing her full on the mouth. Shireen grabs onto his arms, hooking her hands over his elbows. In all his enthusiasm, he nearly lifts her from the pool, but he breaks the kiss to place her back down gently.

“What bothers you, princess?” he asks. Rickon looks a little sad as he asks, and Shireen truly believes that he cares for her. The genuine concern in his eyes throws her off, and she staggers a few steps back.

Shaking her head roughly, Shireen sends tendrils of water flying around. The faintest trace of a smile appears on Rickon’s face, but his worry is still apparent. Shireen tries to smile back at him. “I don’t wish to think on it,” she tells him.

The smile now is genuine. “Then, allow me to take it from your mind,” Rickon says. He pulls off his clothes, sliding into the hot spring right in front of her. Shireen takes a step back, giving him room, but Rickon closes the gap quickly. He takes her by the waist, lifting her from the floor of the pool and bringing her flush against his chest. Shireen gasps lightly, blinking up at him. Rickon smiles, kissing her forehead before adjusting her up to kiss her on the mouth.

His hair brushes against her, catching the moisture that beads on her skin. The softness of his lips takes her over, though. Shireen wraps her arms about his neck, and she drags her fingers through his hair. The water on her fingers snags on his curls, though, and he pulls away prematurely. Slowly, he grabs her wrists, dragging her hands away. Bending a leg up, he sits Shireen there. Rickon pecks her on the lips briefly before submerging himself in the hot spring. He comes up dripping. Then, he shakes his head the same way Shireen imagines Shaggydog would if he were wet.

Shireen grins, snaking her arms back into place around his neck. She rolls her body into his, and Rickon groans contently. His arms slide down her back, and Shireen feels the firm support of his flexing muscles when his grip tightens. Shireen lets out a small sound, and she carefully frees up her legs to wrap them tightly around his waist. Tipping his head down, Rickon sucks at her neck. He drags his teeth down to her shoulder, kissing his way back to her mouth.

When their lips meet, they both move into each other. Somehow, it has gotten to the point where they know each other so well that they both make the necessary adjustments to come together. Simultaneously, they sigh into the other’s mouth. Both of their grips loosen and tighten when he gets to his deepest, and a very short time passes before they start moving in tandem. Rickon’s hands grasp her thighs, and Shireen’s go back to his hair.

Fisting her hands into his curls, Shireen closes her eyes tight and slumps down into his shoulder. She focuses entirely on the feeling of him, of being with him, of having him so completely and thoroughly. He supports her entirely, working her over until she hits her peak hard. Rickon walks her into the bank, thrusting deep into her until he spills inside her.

“I’m sorry,” Rickon murmurs out. He moves her away from the bank shakily, and Shireen realizes that he is apologizing for trapping her against the rock, thinking that she doesn’t like it. He takes them back to shallow water, sitting down on the rocks himself.

Shireen burrows into his neck further, lightly kissing his jugular. Holding onto his shoulder, Shireen relaxes and lets her other hand slide down his chest. Rickon catches it and brings it to his mouth for a kiss. Blinking into his chest, Shireen tries to let her mind wander, not to think on the magnitude of everything that has built up between them. However, Rickon places their joined hands over his heart, and Shireen feels tears spring to her eyes. Hoping that they’ll be mistaken for water, Shireen curls up on Rickon’s lap.

Staring at the Heart Tree, Rickon gets a confused look on his face. “Where will you be married, princess?” he asks.

“Hm?” Shireen sits up, wiping at her face absently.

Rickon looks down at her, and droplets from his hair fall on her face. He wipes them away carefully. “When you’re married,” he starts slowly, “would it be in a sept?”

“Oh.” Shireen sits up further, leaning onto his shoulder. “I don’t keep the Seven… My father worshipped R’hllor, but that faith didn’t serve me well either. I suppose I would take the faith of my husband, though it would be fitting to be wed before the old gods since I am in the North.”

Humming lightly, Rickon’s fingers skim over her legs. “Do you have a preference?”

Shireen sighs. “I’ve never dreamed of weddings,” she tells him. “I know my station, and that my marriage would solely be for children. I never even thought I would be married.”

“Do you now?” Rickon asks.

Chuckling, Shireen looks away from Rickon. “I’d never find a man who I could convince to wed me,” she says.

“I’d put a word in for your favor,” Rickon assures her. “I can be quite persuasive.”

Biting her lips, Shireen stops the question from spilling out of her mouth. She swallows the thought. “I’d not wish to be forced into a marriage,” she tells him, “and I’d not force it on anyone else.”

“So you won’t have children?” Rickon asks.

Shireen laughs. “Oh, all my children would be bastards.”

Rickon chuckles, kissing her hair. “Mayhap not a terrible choice. You’d be a great mother.” Smiling at her, Rickon tightens his grip on her.

“And how will you take to being a father?” Shireen asks.

Scowling, Rickon rocks side to side. “Not well, I expect,” he replies. “Shaggydog and I raising children wouldn’t end well.”

“But you’d want children?” Shireen asks.

“Only with a woman I like,” Rickon says.

Shireen doesn’t stop the terse smile from growing on her face. “How do you expect to find someone you like when you spend so much time with me?”

Rickon pauses for a short while. He leans down and kisses her forehead. “I’m not looking for anyone else,” he says. He places his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up for a kiss. He cups a handful of water up to her hair, combing it out. “We should return to the keep soon.”

Nodding, Shireen leans further against him. She takes her time mulling over his words, trying to find meanings within them. If he is not looking for a wife, but wants children and thinks she’d be a good mother, would it be acceptable for her to have his children? He agreed that she should have bastards. Could she have _his_ bastards?

Lost in her thoughts, Shireen doesn’t realize they’re moving until they leave the godswood. Rickon has loosely tied her back into her gown, stuffed their excess clothing between them, and is in only his breeches. He carries her in his arms, walking them back to the castle. At the door, his grip loosens to open it, and he jostles her a bit to accomplish the task. Shireen yelps slightly, grasping onto his shoulder. Rickon smiles down at her, kissing her nose before continuing on to her room.

He lets Shaggydog open the door there. Then, Rickon walks them to the bed. He sets her down and lets their clothes spill to the ground. Without being prompted, Rickon removes her gown and his own breeches. Then, he climbs into bed with her. Shireen has yet to come to a conclusion about their discussion, particularly as Rickon offered to speak in her favor for a husband. Does he want her gone? Would he speak well of her? Can she make any sort of conclusions from what he said?

Rickon mumbles out a string of sounds, and it takes Shireen a minute to realize that it is the Old Tongue. She tries to bring the words to mind again and repeats them back at him. She feels Rickon smile against her neck. He repeats it again, and Shireen mimics him.

“Yes,” Rickon replies.

“What did you say?” Shireen asks, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

Sliding his hands around her body, Rickon presses her to him. Shireen can feel how hard he is against his arse, and she lets out a light gasp. Biting at her ear, Rickon growls out a sound in the back of his throat. “Can I fuck you?” he asks.

Shireen feels the heat rush to her face, but she pushes back into him. Rolling onto her side, Shireen reaches back between them, taking him in her hand and guiding him back into her. Her hand slides up to his hip, moving him into her. Rickon takes the cue quickly, grasping onto her hip and pushing his hips forward. Shireen lets out a moan, digging her nails into his hip. Rickon pulls her hair away from her face, putting his mouth on her shoulder and breathing hard. He grabs her behind the knee, pressing deeper into her with every thrust.

Gasping loudly, Shireen loses her grip on him. She clutches at the sheets of the bed instead, but she can feel the dig of her nails against her palm. Rickon picks up the pace, holding onto her tighter. Frustrated with the friction, Shireen hooks an arm up to force his mouth to hers. He kisses her between heavy breaths, trying to keep their rhythm. Shireen helps however she can, forcing her hips back against his until she is ready to spill over.

Her grip in his hair digs repeatedly, so that she is scratching at his scalp. Shireen feels a sound building up in her, but it refuses to leave with all other sensations vying for her attention. Rickon’s hand slides between her legs, rubbing at her as he kisses at her face. He murmurs out a phrase in the Old Tongue, growling it out to her repeatedly until everything finds its way out of her at once. Her grip tightens everywhere before it loosens, and she lets out a heavy sigh that almost sounds like a whimper. 

Rickon groans loudly. He kisses at her greyscale until she turns, and he spills his seed into her as he catches her lips. Shireen feels her entire body trembling, but she slides a hand to his jaw to prolong their kiss. Rickon runs his tongue over her lips, begging entrance until she gives it. He deepens the kiss, humming out a happy sound. Shireen twists her body into him, pressing into him. Rickon’s hands go to her hair, combing out her wet hair over her pillow.

Shireen is far too content in his arms, relaxing as he kisses her. She doesn’t know how long they spend kissing, but she falls asleep with the ghost of his mouth on hers. It is perhaps the most content she has ever been, enjoying her nights with Rickon Stark, and Shireen starts to think that it doesn’t matter what future they have as long as they are together. In the morning, Shireen takes her last look at the moon tea before tucking it away.


	14. Chapter 14

Despite Shireen’s initial reaction to the newest phrase Rickon taught her in the Old Tongue, she finds that it is quite useful. Not only does it garner an immediate reaction from Rickon whenever she says it to him, but no one else in Winterfell understands the language. Rickon did warn her about which men may be familiar with the tongue, but Shireen had him send Lord Thenn back to Karhold for the birth of his child. However, Shireen still takes caution. Every time she wishes for Rickon’s company, she whispers the sloppy phrase in his ear. It is far more useful than simply asking for a word from him, particularly as she gets to witness Rickon fumble over his words for a few moments before he manages to follow her out into a secluded corridor.

Rarely do they return to her rooms for these meetings. True to Rickon’s word, Shaggydog keeps everyone else away whenever he fucks her. The smallest complaint from her stops Rickon from undressing her entirely, but he refuses to stop his hands from questing over her body. With her dresses loosened, Rickon lets his hands move across every inch of her skin. He presses her up against a wall, and Shireen’s brief wonder at the warmth of the walls vanishes when he enters her.

Releasing a sharp gasp, Shireen reaches back and grasps at his hip. She feels Rickon’s teeth against her neck before his tongue swipes at the hinge of her jaw. With his hands on her stomach, her skirts are bunched up around her waist, but Shireen has already completely thrown caution to the wind where Rickon is concerned.

“Must you always make me look so foolish in front of my men, princess?” Rickon growls into her ear. He bucks into her a few times before Shireen lets out a strangled gasp.

Shireen tries to form a response through her tangled thoughts. “I believe you do it yourself,” Shireen murmurs out. “What with all the staring during your council meetings… _Oh_ , and how you keep touching me at every possible moment…”

Rickon thrusts into her harder, increasing his speed. “I have already told you what a fascination I have for you,” he growls out. His fingers dig into her ribs, and he finds a spot on her shoulder to suck at. All of his attentions grow stronger, far more intense, and he drives into her. Rickon pushes into her with reckless abandon and he brings her to her peak quickly.

Breathing hard, Shireen leans forward against the stone. She presses her wrists against the smooth rock and fails at moving herself. Brushing her hair away from her face, Shireen takes a moment to catch her breath before making another attempt. She manages it clumsily, leaning onto the wall for support.

Rickon is smirking at her, resting against his forearm on the wall beside her. He looks far too comfortable, far too content at having her whenever and wherever he can. Instead of getting on her nerves, Shireen finds that it is massively attractive. She is almost disappointed when Rickon doesn’t try to fuck her again. He simply reaches for her gown and puts it back into place on her body. The smile slowly slips off his face, and a hard line forms on his brow.

“I need to see the wildlings on the Gift,” he tells her, brushing her hair into place.

Blinking up at him, Shireen grabs onto his hands. He freezes and meets her eyes. Shireen pulls his hands down, swallowing hard. “Why?”

His mouth flicks up into a smile for a single instant before he frowns again. “I have left them without counsel for many moons, and there is someone I must see,” he says. Rickon notices her worry and immediately adds on, “I’ll not be gone long. Only a day if I can manage it… But if I can stop an uprising on Skagos, then I have to go.”

Shireen swallows hard. She knows enough about Skagos to realize his attachment there. He obviously wants to tend to the place he so closely associates with _home_. She tries to find something else to latch onto so she doesn’t feel like he’s leaving. “I could go with you,” she offers. “And help you give counsel to the wildlings.”

Rickon kisses her gently. “I won’t put you in danger, princess,” he says evenly. Shireen shakes her head, preparing to argue her point, but Rickon moves his hands to brush over her cheeks. “They still fear it, and I cannot put you in a position to be harmed.”

Closing her eyes tight, Shireen tries to think about anything else but him leaving. She doesn’t want to think about the differences in the culture she knows from that of wildlings or the Skagosi. She will never know how Rickon acts amongst them, if he is more himself with the different social norms. Reaching out for his waist, Shireen pulls him close. She breathes in the scent of him and comforts herself in this moment. Shireen knows her feelings for him, and she knows what she wants from him. But after everything they have been through together, Shireen also knows that she trusts him. Rickon may not have an upbringing like hers, but he certainly has his own standards and holds to them firmly.

“You’ll return soon?” Shireen asks.

Nodding, Rickon kisses at her hair and strokes her arms gently. “As soon as I can, princess,” he promises.

His departure the next day hurts Shireen far more than she expects. Although she assures herself of his fidelity, she has started doubting her abilities to ever give him what he could possibly need from her. For the past few moons, Shireen has entirely abandoned the moon tea in hopes of conceiving his child. However, her moonsickness has come as it always has. Without fail, Shireen has had her moonblood. Naturally, nothing seems wrong, but Shireen can only doubt her own ability to serve her only purpose has a highborn woman.

Shireen bites her lip hard, looking out to the Gift where Rickon has disappeared to. She presses her hands to her stomach, knowing that nothing is growing inside of her. If she is incapable of producing a child, Rickon should have another for a wife. He needs heirs to pass Winterfell on to, and if she is barren, then there is no reason it should be her. Shireen turns from the window, making her way out to the grounds now that the sun is completely up.

She misses her companion on the grounds as much as she misses Rickon. Shaggydog was always her ultimate form of protection. Even with Rickon’s word keeping her safe, Shaggydog had no qualms about growling at anyone who dared spare her even the smallest unfriendly glance. Still, she insisted that Rickon take him to the Gift, thinking that it would allow him to return sooner.

Walking aimlessly about the grounds, Shireen tries to find some way to busy herself. Rickon very intentionally told her that he would give her little to do, that he wanted her to be calm and relax while he was gone. It infuriates her, though. She craves distraction and finds that there is nothing she would give to have duties to tend to. Seeking out the castellan, Shireen asks about anything that needs to be seen to with Rickon’s absence, taking care to refer to him as _king_.

The castellan immediately goes into a panic, asking about when Rickon left and where he went. Shireen tries to provide the information, but the castellan hears nothing of it, simply rushing off to set the matters of Winterfell in order. Shireen blinks after him, absently wondering how the news came as a surprise. From what she knew, Rickon planned on leaving orders whenever he told her he was leaving beforehand. She doesn’t realize the complete lack of preparation Rickon had until Lyanna finds her on the grounds.

“So I hear we’re without the company of our dear King Stark,” she greets, falling into step beside her.

Shireen looks over, finding an amused smile on Lyanna’s face. “Yes,” Shireen agrees. “He was gone in the morning.”

Lyanna grins. “Do you usually see him in the mornings?” she asks.

Shireen has no trouble telling Lyanna the truth of the matter. “No,” she replies.

“Ah,” Lyanna hums, continuing on with a bounce in her step. “He has been discussing a few matters with me as well.”

“I know,” Shireen says simply. She is determined not to let this woman get a rise out of her. “He told me.”

“Did he tell you about what?”

“His father,” Shireen says immediately. She glares over to Lyanna, hoping to find anything but surprise on her face.

Lyanna smiles. “I don’t mean to make you doubt your betrothed.” She pauses on her next step, turning to face Shireen fully. “Rickon Stark is a good man—a better man than one would expect. He means to take a wife for true, and you _are_ his betrothed.”

Shireen swallows hard. “Lady Lyanna, I know you came to Winterfell for a marriage, and that you must have wanted to become his wife,” Shireen tells her.

“He has no interest in me, my lady,” Lyanna tells her. “And I may get a marriage regardless, but speaking of our king is rather dull, wouldn’t you say? It has been a long while since I’ve had sisters to talk to.”

Shireen doesn’t quite share Lyanna’s views. She thinks that there is nothing better than letting her thoughts wander to Rickon all day. However, she has to admit that she never thought she would have female companionship, so she welcomes it. “How are your sisters?” she asks.

Lyanna gives her a warm smile. She takes Shireen’s arm, leading her through the grounds as she blabbers on amiably about her family. She spares Shireen no details, speaking fondly of those who died in the war. “Alysane holds Bear Island, and her children love it there. Her daughter has found every excuse for staying, even though she is long past the age to be wed. Truthfully, Mormont women don’t often find husbands.”

“Why not?” Shireen asks, genuinely curious. “I mean, you’re perfectly lovely, and you were vying for your king’s hand.”

“Well, that’s neither here nor there for us,” Lyanna says. “It’s likely because our children are often considered bastards.”

“Pardon me?” Shireen finds herself smiling, even though the news is scandalous.

Lyanna rolls her eyes. “I suppose they _are_ bastards,” she muses, “but Alysane swears that a bear fathered her children.”

Shireen nearly chokes on the information, not knowing how to wrap her mind around the thought. Before she can question it further, Lyanna moves on to plenty other topics, asking Shireen about Dragonstone and how she grew up in the midst of the war. It is far easier to talk to Lyanna than Shireen expects. They get along well after Lyanna happily stomped away any sort of competition between them, and Shireen finds herself agreeing with Lyanna and arranging to be measured for new dresses in a few days’ time.

“We should have dinner together,” Lyanna suggests. “I expect you have a horrendous time being tucked away in your rooms. Oh! Do you play _cyvasse_?”

“I do,” Shireen replies, finishing the circuit about the yard. She gives the Mormont lady a smile, thinking that there is something much better in Winterfell with her friendship.

“Let’s play a round,” Lyanna says, pulling Shireen through the keep.

The day with Lyanna goes far better than expected. Shireen finds that Lyanna is much like she is. They are of a similar age, and they are both bored. However, Lyanna doesn’t have the pleasure of having Rickon’s company anywhere near as often as Shireen does. After a few hours, and quite a few glasses of wine, Shireen even finds the nerve to ask her about when she gave Rickon the information about Barrowtown.

Lyanna sputters on her sip, placing down the wine glass. “Not my idea,” she quickly defends. “My sister insisted that I put forth proper effort into gaining Rickon’s favor. And you wouldn’t believe how much Lord Umber has been pestering me about wedding him! Honestly, I just wanted to see if he cared for me at all.”

“And?” Shireen questions before she can stop herself.

“I told you,” Lyanna says pointedly. “He has no interest in me. I think someone else has caught our young king’s eye…”

Shireen dodges away from Lyanna’s gaze, finding the most damaging move she could make in their game of _cyvasse_. She finds it quickly enough, making Lyanna swear loudly and become thoroughly invested in the game. Smiling to herself, Shireen looks out the window, wondering when she’d been able to know if she truly has Rickon’s interest. She mulls over the thoughts for the rest of the day. Far too many other thoughts have managed their way across her mind, and she hopes for Rickon’s return very soon.

He doesn’t return for days.

Shireen reasons to herself that he is simply busy. After all, she has had Rickon entirely to herself for months now. While she was confident that their relationship had grown well—that they were at the very least truly friends—Shireen still harbors her doubts about confronting him with the possibility of wanting to wed him. She wants to. She knows she wants to. However, the jarring reality that she could never have his children makes her even more worried about telling him. He doesn’t want marriage. They have discussed marriage. She knows he doesn’t want a marriage. Children, though… Rickon thought they were acceptable, and she can’t give him what he wants.

The thought of it nearly drives her mad. Shireen finds herself constantly distracted for the next few days. She doesn’t let anything on, though, keeping company with Lyanna and letting the other girl steer her mind as far from Rickon as possible.

Lyanna is excellent at fulfilling this duty. She knows exactly how to draw Shireen into conversation and invites her on various adventures about the keep. They also go riding out together with a small guard, and Lyanna tells her everything she possibly can about the North. The exchange goes both ways, though. As often as they are in each other’s company, Lyanna watches on as Shireen settles matters of the lands and is addressed by the castellan to see to issues that Rickon normally leaves for her.

Shireen expects that Lyanna has little interest in these matters. However, Lyanna often asks after them. She had little knowledge about those kinds of topics. Being the youngest of several sisters and mostly like to be married off to a lord, she has no use for such in-depth knowledge. Shireen provides the information the best she can, inviting Lyanna into the library to read the old Stark records on the matters.

“Is this common?” Lyanna asks, shuffling through her book. “The records are dreadfully dull. Why should it matter how many gifts Bran the Builder received for his wedding?”

“You found such a thing?” Shireen asks, picking at the book that Lyanna skims.

Lyanna laughs, handing over the book. “Just information on lots of dead Starks.”

Shireen flips through the book as Lyanna picks up another. It is, indeed, filled with information on the various Starks, their marriages, and important dates. Flicking through the pages quickly, Shireen nearly tosses the book aside before a small strip of writing crosses her eye. Smoothing out the page, Shireen brings the book closer to read. It is Rickon’s nameday, listed along with all his other siblings. Near it is the date they all received their direwolves.

Smiling, Shireen latches onto the information, quickly counting out that Rickon was all of four years of age when he most likely named Shaggydog. Before long, her brain starts doing the math, finding out that she is just over five years older than him. She shoves the thought away quickly. After all, highborn ladies often had arranged marriages to men ten years their senior. Despite any breaches in propriety, Rickon is a man and a king at that. He is more than welcome to choose his own bride, even if she is older than him. Tucking the information away, Shireen resumes conversation with Lyanna.

Hours later, they are finishing up being measured for new dresses. Shireen isn’t particularly sure when she’ll need a proper gown seeing as Rickon doesn’t hold feasts even when he hosts guests, but the time with Lyanna is well-spent, and she cannot remember ever being measured for a gown. Lyanna assures her that it won’t be anything fit for court in King’s Landing, just something new for them to stroll about in.

“Who can bare the weight of their hair piled atop their head?” Lyanna asks. She pulls up her hair, stuffing it into a fist on her head. “I think my neck will snap.”

Shireen giggles, remembering the only time she bothered with such a style—long before she knew what cruel looks her greyscale could garner. In truth, she loves the simplicity of the North. The gowns all have little embellishments, making them much lighter even if many layers of skirts help with the cold. Having her hair left alone is also a joy. At first, it was because she could more easily hide her face. Now, it is more closely linked to how often Rickon drags his fingers against her scalp to bring her closer.

Blushing from the thought, Shireen turns to the window and lifts her arms for the final measurement. It isn’t long before they are left in Lyanna’s rooms, and the other woman turns to her. Lyanna has casually draped her body over the back of a chair, finding a small piece of bread to chew on.

“Nearly two weeks,” Lyanna says.

Shireen turns around sharply, looking back at Lyanna. “What?”

“Our good king has left us for nearly two weeks,” Lyanna says, shrugging. She slumps into a chair. “I heard he used to leave for moons at a time.”

“Never two moons,” Shireen tells her, thinking back to her first year at Winterfell. “But close to it, yes.”

Lyanna sighs heavily. “I suppose we don’t truly need kings,” she muses, plucking at her bread. “Life just continues on as if they never existed. Tell me, why do women wish to be queen?”

Shireen laughs, taking a seat on the edge of Lyanna’s bed. “I expect it’s the gowns.”

Lyanna laughs dryly, repositioning herself over her chair and reaching out for a pile of sewing before thinking twice about it. “I feel as if I could sleep for days,” she tells Shireen. “We are truly blessed to be highborn.”

Someone clears their throat loudly. “And to be so favored by your king, I expect.”

Both ladies turn sharply to the voice, finding Rickon leaning against the doorway. His arms are crossed loosely over his chest, and he looks amused at finding them together. Lyanna recovers first.

“Oh, Your Grace,” she greets. “Please, enter. We are delightfully bored and could use some entertainment.”

Rickon takes steady steps into the room. He gives Shireen a quick glance before heading toward Lyanna. Shireen feels her heart sink until he merely steals some of her food. There is surely a war raging in her heart and she quickly tries to reconcile the conflicting emotions popping up at his sudden return.

“I quite thought you were preparing to sleep,” Rickon says through a mouthful. “I shouldn’t disrupt your plans, though I may be able to entertain the Princess Shireen… She has taken on many of my duties in my absence.”

Shireen hears the quick addition to his comment, though Lyanna seems bored with the topic. She yawns loudly. “So long as it is not in my chambers, Your Grace. My bed and I have a very important matter to see to.”

“Very well,” Rickon says. He inclines his head toward Lyanna before stretching out a hand to Shireen. She is fully aware that it would be proper to take his arm, but Rickon squirms about until he has her hand in his. His fingers move erratically over the back of her hand, and Shireen feels her heart trying to jump from her chest. Rickon pulls her from the room quickly, bidding goodbye to Lyanna and shutting the door behind them.

Before Shireen can take another step, Rickon twirls her around. His mouth is on hers the next instant, pulling her close and deepening the kiss. Though slightly shocked at his actions, Shireen kisses him back briefly, raising a hand to his chest and pushing him away gently.

“Your Grace,” Shireen says pointedly. “We are outside a lady’s chambers.”

“Should we be in yours?” Rickon responds. He bites his lip hard, squeezing her hand tightly. He digs his fingers into the hair behind her ear, moving until he is just brushing her lips. “I have missed you greatly.”

He kisses her again, though Shireen cuts it short, pushing him away. Rickon looks at her confusedly, watching the knit of her brow as she gets lost in her thoughts. Shireen gets stuck on one, and it becomes impossible for her to find any sort of possibility in the others. She takes a deep breath, finally meeting Rickon’s bright green gaze. He gives her a hopeful look and a small smile. Shireen feels her eyes growing wet. Quickly, she blinks the tears away before they can fall. She bites her tongue, taking a deep breath for courage.

“You should wed Lyanna,” Shireen blurts out.

Rickon freezes. The confusion grows on his face. “I don’t—”

“She would be good for the North,” Shireen says before he can stop. “She knows that land and the people. She can run the keep just fine. She was raised as a proper lady and even held Bear Island for a time. You would do well together.”

“Princess, I—”

“You need a wife and heirs,” Shireen says, feeling the tears fall despite her attempts otherwise. Rickon’s grip on her hand loosens the smallest amount, and Shireen slides her fingers away. “It’s a good match for you.”

Rickon stares at her with disbelief written clear across his face. “But you—”

“We have no betrothal,” Shireen reminds him. “You have kept every promise you made me, and I thank you for that. But you have a duty to your people, and it would be wise for you to act on that soon. I don’t need to be wed. It is of little circumstance.”

His brow furrows, and he shakes his head slightly. Finally, he looks away, his gaze traveling constantly as it flicks to the left and the right. Rickon opens his mouth several times to speak, but no noise comes out.

Shireen moves into open space, keeping her gaze steady. She takes another deep breath, straightening her back. “Marry Lyanna, Rickon,” she tells him. With a weak smile, Shireen lifts a hand to gently rub his chin.

Rickon lifts a hand halfway there before she draws away, turning and running as far away as possible. Wiping the tears away on her sleeve, Shireen thinks through everything. It truly is the best option. If she cannot produce the heirs that Rickon needs, marrying him would be a completely useless effort. Lyanna could probably conceive a child. After all, her family didn’t have cursed marriages and she doesn’t have greyscale to ruin her pretty face. Even without it, Shireen would not be beautiful, and she feels all the worse for allowing herself to be so attracted to her king.

Shireen only stops running when she crashes into Shaggydog. The direwolf looks a little sad, ready to whine at her, and he licks over her greyscale softly. Stumbling forward, Shireen throws her arms around Shaggydog, but she hears footsteps coming fast behind her, and she is not ready to face Rickon again. Turning to Shaggydog with a pleading expression, she says, “Hide me. _Please._ ”

The footsteps slow some, and the direwolf stands. Shaggydog pushes her with his snout a few times before leading her through the keep. They make it outside and down to the crypts. Shireen digs her hands into Shaggydog’s fur, not bothering with a torch and letting him guide her slowly. Blindly, she makes her way deeper into the underground until Shaggydog settles. There is no doubt in her mind that she is anywhere but the space designated for Rickon. It is fitting that she should be here: the place where he will stay forever. She is simply a temporary part of this eternity. Perhaps, if she died here, a part of her would stay with Rickon forever.

That thought, along with many others, makes her weep. She no longer knows what she weeps for, only that she has a multitude of sorrows that live within her. It was foolish to allow herself to ever become intimate with Rickon. He is her king, not her lover. He needs a wife, not a mistress. Shireen just knows how much more useless she is in this terrible game of thrones.

She sobs heavily, curling into Shaggydog and letting herself weep until there is nothing left. Because if there is nothing, then she won’t care anymore, and there is nothing more that she wants then to stop caring.

The effort is useless. No matter how many tears she sheds, or how much her body shakes with the struggle of it, she cannot stop how she feels about her king. She is doomed to be a woman of his court with none of his affection unless she banishes herself from the only safe haven she has left. _It is worth it,_ she thinks. _For him._

There is a distant, echoing sound of footsteps, though Shireen does not see a flame to guide its owner, and Shireen curls further into Shaggydog. He has protected her so far. Surely, he can keep unfriendly faces away in the dark as well. The direwolf is ever calm, though, even as the footsteps get louder, and Shireen feels her heart racing. The steps are even, though they are spaced out, and Shireen can just make out the brush of fingers on stone. The rustle of clothes gets closer, and Shireen doesn’t risk moving.

It is Rickon. It _has_ to be Rickon, but he says nothing. Shireen feels his proximity, though. She is well-aware of how her every nerve goes on alert when he is near. A small part of her brain thinks that she could just lean forward and kiss him, but she is incapable.

Rickon isn’t.

His fingers skim her greyscale before his lips find hers in a chaste kiss. Though Shireen cannot see him, she imagines his face, finding that she knows him well enough to picture in the darkness. She silences that part of her that is jumping to questions and commands for him, sighing at the end of their small kiss. She hears Rickon shuffling to sit down next to her, feels their legs only just touching.

Another sob is building in her chest, but Shireen turns to Rickon now. His arm goes around her, sweeping soft circles over her back and drawing her closer. Shireen clutches at him, letting anything else that remains out in the open.

They spend a long while in the crypts, until Shireen is completely exhausted and worn out. Then, Rickon stands, still silent. He pulls her up to her feet with Shaggydog’s help and lifts her into his arms as if she is a child. He holds her in a tight hug for a while before kissing her forehead and carrying her back to the keep. Rickon takes her the entire way to her chambers, and she wonders what hour it is, how much of the household is still awake to see them, how much time she lost. If it bothers Rickon, he doesn’t let on. He just sets her down, strips her for bed, and tucks her in.

For a terrible moment, Shireen thinks he’ll leave. He returns soon, though, sliding into bed with her. Without hesitation, Shireen moves into him, finding the area between his shoulder and chest with her head and being held by him.

When Rickon first speaks to her again, it is in the Old Tongue. The word she recognizes: her title and his name for her. _Princess_. Rickon nudges her with his nose, waking her slightly. “Do not ask me to wed Lyanna again,” he says. He hugs her tighter, kissing her forehead and murmuring out another sentence in the Old Tongue. She recognizes it as the first he spoke to her, but she doesn’t know its meaning. His free hand strokes through her hair, pushing it away from her face as he combs out the tangles in it. “Shireen,” he murmurs softly. “ _Shireen._ ”


	15. Chapter 15

When Shireen wakes in the morning, Rickon is gone, but there is a single blue rose over the pillow where he slept. Reaching out slowly, Shireen holds it carefully between two fingers. Spinning the winter rose slowly, she brings it to her nose and inhales deeply. Sighing, Shireen rolls onto her back, playing with the rose. She thought that they were entirely out of bloom. After the small bouquet she tended to, Shireen didn’t expect to see any more for years. Somehow, Rickon has found one and given it to her. With a small smile, Shireen sets the rose back onto his pillow before sitting up.

Across her room, Shaggydog pants lightly, lifting his head from his paws. Shireen beckons him over, and the direwolf responds immediately. He stands slowly, walking at a steady pace onto her bed and taking up most of the space with his bulk. Shireen pets him gently, curling down against his side. She has not yet mulled over the remaining thoughts from last night, and she almost doesn’t want to. Already, she has tried to act in Rickon’s best interests, to give him counsel as his Hand, but he has entirely refused it. Surely, it means something. He must care for her and whatever has built up between them. Only, she doesn’t know what it is.

With everything she has been blessed with, Shireen no longer wishes to throw herself into doubt about Rickon. He knows their arrangement as well as she does, and he could just as easily ask her about changing matters. If he does not bother with it, then there is no reason for her to do so either. Shireen buries her nose into Shaggydog’s neck, sighing deeply.

The matter was settled then. She would not let it bother her anymore. It was done, whatever it has become. Rickon continues to return to her every night, though he sleeps a bit fitfully. Oftentimes, Shireen stays up to hold him into the small hours of the night. She combs through his hair as he burrows into her chest, murmuring out strange sounds. Now, Shireen knows the words. It is the Old Tongue, likely his first fluent language, come spilling out through his unconscious. With the garbled talk, Shireen only recognizes a few words, and her smile turns into a scowl when he says _Skagos_ right after _princess_. He mumbles them out a few more times, switching the words about some, and adding in other phrases before settling for the night. Shireen shushes him gently, waiting it out until he falls back into a deep sleep.

It is still a difficult transition back to normal for them. Rickon is a little tentative about her for a few days. He wavers on the brink of the familiarity he once gave her, and Shireen understands his concern. Talking about it only helps some, but Rickon falls back into the Old Tongue more and more, forcing Shireen to piece together his meaning.

He has just told her a large bulk of information in the Old Tongue, and Shireen struggles to pick out the words she knows. He doesn’t wish to marry Lyanna. He will never marry Lyanna. He wants to be a good king. He doesn’t think he knows how. And he—Shireen doesn’t know those words. She recognizes them, but her brain refuses to interpret them.

“Would you speak plainly, my lord?” Shireen asks him, much sharper than she intends. Though, she wishes to understand the Old Tongue, it is far more difficult when Rickon is speaking quickly and not looking at her.

He starts again in the foreign language before he catches himself. Clearing his throat, Rickon reaches for her hand. “I do not wish to marry Lyanna,” he tells her, “and she does not wish to wed me. No one has questioned me without an heir so far, but it needn’t be a concern unless I go to war.”

Shireen swallows hard. She has spent more time in the keep than Rickon has, and she knows the whispers of his servants and household. They speak of it often, mentioning that Rickon has motives for not yet taking a wife. “I—your household has been spreading rumors,” Shireen mutters. She turns around to take a seat beside him so she doesn’t have to see him. “They think you mean to abandon the throne. That you would return to Skagos.”

“I don’t—”

Shireen cuts him off. “You mention it often,” she whispers. “I can sometimes hear you muttering about it in your sleep.”

“Do I?” Rickon asks, looking at her.

“Along with other things in the Old Tongue,” Shireen says. “Only small phrases. I only know of Skagos.”

Rickon shakes his head sharply. “If I speak the Old Tongue, you may be misunderstanding me,” he says slowly. Something about his tone makes it seem that he is stepping carefully around her. Rickon furrows his brow. “ _Skagos_ means stone, princess. It is another word in the Old Tongue.”

Shireen looks at him in confusion. She sees a trace of amusement on his face, but she only grows more confused. “Then, are you trying to tell me about stones when you are asleep?” she asks.

“What?” Rickon asks, his confusion growing as well.

“You just keep saying _stone_ and _princess_ in your sleep,” Shireen tells him, shaking her head. “Are you speaking to me?”

Recognition dawns on Rickon’s face, and he chuckles at her. Seeing her scowl deepen, Rickon clears his throat again. “I think I may be trying to tell you about my favorite type of stone, princess,” he says, the smile growing wider.

Shireen shakes her head slowly, thinking that he is surely japing with her. “I don’t—”

Rickon cuts her off with a kiss, landing his mouth on her cheek. After a moment, he gives her another grin before leaving the room. Shireen sits in her confusion, trying to discern his meaning. Surely, it was a jape of sorts. Why would he even have a favorite type of stone to tell her about? Perhaps he was hiding some princess from Skagos deep in his past that he never told anyone about. Thinking through the possibility, Shireen traces her fingers over his kiss, brushing her fingers over her greyscale.

It takes a few minutes for Shireen to realize that her skin feels like stone. Even if Aegon once thought it was flattering to compare her to a dragon, it is the thought that she is stone that nearly stops her heart. _She_ was his favorite stone. Shireen almost laughs at how silly the statement sounds. Never in her life did she expect anyone to court her, and she has somehow managed to romanticize the thought that she is stone. With a sigh, Shireen pushes the thought away.

Rickon isn’t trying to court her. She is his subject—his Hand—not a lady to be shown around for a lord to take as wife. Even so, if Rickon wanted to have her as a wife, his status made it so he could choose her freely. He could demand that she marry him, and then she would have to tell him that she already knows that she can’t bear his children. Shireen sighs deeply. However this situation ended for them, Shireen cannot see it happening well.

Instead of letting it eat at her, Shireen goes about her day as normal. Never has she needed distraction more, and she is lucky to have Lyanna as a friend to accomplish the task. Lyanna is completely willing to take Shireen about the keep whenever she asks, often abandoning their rooms for the outdoors. Shireen is certain that Lyanna is the only person in Winterfell to realize that Rickon’s attentions are fixated on her, but the Mormont girl never questions it. She simply drags Shireen away from his company and insists that they do other things together. Shireen spends the day with Lyanna, though her mind does not. All day, she thinks on Rickon’s words and what they could possibly mean.

That night, Shireen waits for Rickon patiently. Just as the sun sets, he enters her chambers. Shireen turns to him, smiling. Rickon returns the smile, moving to hold her in his arms. His hands roam her body eagerly, slipping under her dressing gown to feel her skin.

“Am I Skagosi then?” Shireen asks, feeling emboldened by his touches.

Rickon moves to kiss her greyscale, as close to her ear as possible. He mutters out the term for _yes_ in the Old Tongue, adding on another phrase. Shireen repeats it back automatically, waiting for Rickon to correct her. He does, kissing her between words. It is hard enough for Shireen to speak the Old Tongue when she is not distracted, but Rickon refuses to stop. After a long time, Shireen pushes him away to ask, “What am I saying?”

Rickon grins at her. “ _You are more Skagosi than me_ ,” he says very deliberately. “Though it sounds closer to _the Skagosi in you is greater than mine_.”

Shireen smiles at him, stretching up to her toes to kiss him fully. “True from both of us, then?”

“You will always win, princess,” Rickon replies. He holds her ruined cheek in his palm, moving her to deepen their kiss. His tongue slides over hers, darting around her mouth to draw out the taste of her. He moans in her mouth, and Shireen clutches at his sides.

Her hands find the hem of his tunic, traveling against the muscle of him and pulling him closer. It has returned to the sheer pleasure of him, how she yearns for him and wants him in the most intimate ways. Rickon is always eager to have her just as thoroughly, though he is slower about it now. Where he once threatened to ruin all of her dresses in his rush, now he undresses her reverentially. He slowly pulls at the ties of her gown, letting them slide to the floor and pool there.

The chill of the North is nothing with the heat of Rickon’s body against hers. Instead of asking for a fire or a fur, Shireen simply undresses him herself, moving until her skin is on his. Rickon drags his hands all over her. There is a massive difference now, though. His fascination of kneading at her breasts has almost ceased entirely, and he seems to be trying to memorize the shape of her. It doesn’t take any coaxing to have Rickon touch her in the most inappropriate ways, though. He takes the invitation when she gives it, and he feasts on her as if she is the antidote to a poison he was given.

He joins her in nudity just as slowly, taking her to bed. Rickon is slower with her now, as if he is drugged and sluggish in his movements. The kisses are lingering no matter where he places them, and his fingers are light over her skin as he finds his way into her. Without fail, he watches her as he makes love to her, devastatingly slow and with far more passion than Shireen expects. Rickon presses into her as deeply as possible, filling her entirely before even considering another thrust. His fast pace and erratic rhythms are gone on this night, and Shireen can only think that he is again trying to make her forget herself.

It works completely, but the only assault on Shireen’s mind is the vivid memory of her realization that she is utterly in love with him. Rickon still holds her heart, and Shireen always moves to kiss him while he continues to press against her thighs. They kiss slowly and deeply, making her nerves go haywire, and Shireen is entirely on edge as he pushes her to be completely overcome in the sensations. She gasps into his mouth, and Rickon only smiles at her. He doesn’t stop his movements until it repeats multiple times, and Shireen is clutching at his back so hard, she has likely drawn blood. Then, Rickon lets out his own small gasp, and his rhythm breaks. He seems intent on keeping it until Shireen moves her arms about his neck, trying to mutter out encouraging words for him. Rickon spills his seed into her at his deepest, and his entire body shakes with the effort of holding his weight up.

Wrapping her legs around his hips, Shireen pulls him down over her, keeping their bodies connected. Rickon breathes hard into her shoulder, letting his breaths even before he starts kissing over her skin again. His arms tighten around her shoulders, sliding under her back. He hums out a light sound, looking up at her through his eyelashes. “How are you so wonderful, princess?” he asks her, kissing her chin. “You make me forget myself.”

Shireen smiles at him, brushing her hand through his hair. She combs out a few tangles, wiping the sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. “Do you forget to bed me as wildlings do?” she asks. 

“Then I wouldn’t get to see you,” Rickon replies, kissing her gently. “Or kiss you.”

“Do you like kissing me?” Shireen asks.

Rickon grins at her. “More than those maidens in songs,” he replies, finding her lips again.

Shireen giggles at him, and she feels his body reacting to her movement. They do not get to sleep for hours more.

 

 

Shireen has yet to call Rickon away from his duties. Her body is aching from the memory of him, from the knowledge that he has fucked her slowly and passionately for the past fortnight. She almost does not wish to break the feeling of it—as if they are husband and wife sharing rooms. Sneaking about the keep with him would ruin the feeling of it, and though Shireen longs to have him deep inside her, she keeps away.

Rickon trails after her sometimes, and Shireen thinks it is to hide her away from prying eyes so he can make love to her. She escapes to the clutches of Lyanna, thinking that Rickon will at least maintain his sensibilities with the other lady so close. Lyanna always looks smug at having Shireen’s company, flouncing away from Rickon to take Shireen off someplace. They saddle up horses together, and Lyanna leads them south for the day’s adventures.

They are in Winter Town, wandering about the buildings that have been abandoned during the short season of favorable weather for the North. While it would seem disturbing to Shireen, Lyanna’s loud laughter fills the air and breaks the spell over the town. Shireen lets the other woman comfort her, even as they dismount their horses to walk about small alleys.

“It would seem you have a shadow today,” Lyanna calls over her shoulder. She turns back to the barrel she examines, looking rather cross with it.

Shireen turns around, delighted to find Shaggydog stalking after her. He has followed her closer since he last returned with Rickon, and Shireen welcomes his company as much as Lyanna’s. Stretching a hand out, Shireen pets his snout before Lyanna comes back, hands on her hips.

“How does he just let a direwolf roam about as it pleases?” Lyanna asks. “I see them apart far more than they are ever together.”

“I don’t think he likes that we left Winterfell,” Shireen says. The direwolf has been following her closer and closer the past few days, and Shireen does not know what to make of it. Perhaps Rickon asked him to keep an eye on her, not trusting Lyanna.

Lyanna doesn’t care in the slightest, returning to her examination of Winter Town. She briefly tells Shireen the history of the town, why the Starks still maintain it, and when its occupants come and go. Shireen listens intently, making sure to give Lyanna all her attention. It becomes so that neither of them realize that Shaggydog has managed to scare their horses away. Lyanna is extremely cross with the direwolf for doing so, though she is obviously debating whether or not to properly scold a direwolf.

“I suppose we’ll have to walk back to Winterfell now,” Lyanna says turning from Shaggydog. She puts her hands on her hips, kicking at the snow. She sighs loudly. “I suppose it isn’t a very long walk back.”

“We can take Shaggydog,” Shireen suggests, coaxing the direwolf over. Shaggydog bounds over happily, pressing his nose into her stomach and circling her legs. It would be endearing if he did not threaten to knock her over every time. Still, Shaggydog moves slowly, licking at her face. Shireen makes him go down on all fours before turning to Lyanna.

She stares on in shock. “I do not think I will be allowed,” she says. “The direwolf has yet to show me any sort of affection.”

Shireen rolls her eyes, snagging Lyanna’s hand and dragging her forward. “Just come,” Shireen tells her. “Unless you’d rather walk.”

Lyanna falters for a moment. Narrowing her eyes at Shaggydog, she slowly climbs onto his back. Shireen helps as much as she can, and then she does the same. Digging her hands into his fur, Shireen asks Shaggydog to stand. Yelping loudly, Lyanna grasps on Shireen’s shoulders. “He is taller than my horse,” she hisses out.

Shaking her head slightly, Shireen urges Shaggydog forward. She can feel him struggling to maintain a slow speed, but she fears falling as much as Lyanna does. Instead, Shireen murmurs calm words to Shaggydog, keeping him going until they are in the gates. Lyanna scurries off and away from Shaggydog as quickly as possible, and Shireen takes her time doing so. Shaggydog noses at her continuously until she is safely on the ground. He licks her once before standing again and walking around the courtyard.

Lyanna is still drawn in on herself, hugging her arms tight. She shakes her head slowly, her eyes growing wider. “Next time, I will walk,” she says, rounding on her heel and rushing into the keep.

Giggling to herself, Shireen goes to Shaggydog again, sitting with the direwolf in the snow as he curls himself around her. Shaggydog readjusts his position several times, eventually placing his head in her lap. She becomes stuck there, not wishing to anger the direwolf by asking him to move. Rickon spots them across the yard as he heads to practice, but a pleading look from Shireen makes him change course.

“Yes, princess?” he asks, going to stand in front of her.

“He hasn’t moved in hours,” Shireen tells Rickon. “I’m going to be stuck here.”

Rickon laughs loudly, nudging Shaggydog roughly until he stands. When the direwolf does, he growls loudly at Rickon, showing his fangs. Rickon rolls his eyes and bats Shaggydog away. He offers Shireen a hand, helping her to her feet.

“Something’s come over that wolf,” Rickon mutters, pausing as Shireen adjusts her gown. He offers her his arm and leads her back to the keep.

“Won’t you be late?” Shireen asks, glancing back to the practice yard where his men wait for him.

Rickon gives her a devious grin. “I could always be late for other reasons,” he suggests, making Shireen’s cheeks go red. He waits until they enter an empty corridor before he kisses her cheek. “I shouldn’t keep them waiting, though.”

“Very well,” Shireen says, stopping outside her rooms. “Though, your direwolf has scared off my companion for the day.”

“The Lady Lyanna?” Rickon asks. He looks a little annoyed at the mention of her. “I could ask her to join you.”

Shireen taps Rickon’s chest lightly. “I think she needs time alone,” she tells him. “I will manage.”

“I can be late,” Rickon offers.

Smiling at him, Shireen leans up to press a light kiss to his chin. “It is better for a king to be honest with his subjects,” Shireen tells him. “Now, go.”

He kisses her first, sliding a hand down her back and burying his other in her hair. Small sounds are created between them when Shireen grabs at his collar. Rickon opens her mouth with his tongue, turning her until she is pressed against a wall. Shireen gets lost in the kiss, grabbing onto Rickon’s face to draw him closer, as if there is any space between their bodies that he can fill. It is only when they are gasping for air that Shireen remembers herself.

“You are going to be late, my lord,” she mumbles out, brushing a thumb over his lip.

Rickon smiles at her and catches her thumb in his mouth. He sucks on it a bit before leaning back to her mouth. “I find that I enjoy being late,” he tells her.

“I doubt your men appreciate it,” Shireen responds.

He silences her with a kiss, rocking into her as much as possible. Rickon kisses her until she is breathless again before slowly releasing her and leaving her outside her chambers. Shireen rests against the stone wall, looking after Rickon for quite some time before finally opening the door to her rooms. Inside, she finds the latest figures that the castellan asked her to sort through, and she busies herself in that work to stop her mind from wandering. She has tended to matters of the North for years now, and while the northerners were slow to see her as one of Rickon’s council, most have accepted her position now. Her letters are still few, and she doubts that anyone will ever write her, but Shireen finds that her comfort in the North is far better than she ever expected.

At dinner, Lyanna slides into the seat beside her, bringing a tray of food with her. “I pricked myself sewing today,” she says. Lyanna holds up a finger that has been tied with a tiny bandage. “I thought it would relax me after being on top of a direwolf, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. No blood spilled on my work, though.”

“What are you sewing?” Shireen asks, picking at her plate.

“Just trying to see if I _can_ ,” Lyanna admits. “I’ve been out of practice. My sister wrote to tell me that I’d never find a proper husband like that, so I’ve gone back to proper courtesies and daily activities. Though, it is dreadfully dull.”

Shireen laughs. “More entertaining than looking through facts and figures,” Shireen tells her. “I might have all the holdings in the North memorized soon.”

“At least the information will serve you well,” Lyanna says, shoving food into her mouth.

“What do you mean?” Shireen asks, furrowing her brow.

Lyanna rolls her eyes, taking a deep swallow from her glass. “No one will care how small my stiches are,” she tells her. “Save for my lord husband who will be forced to comment on it for courtesies. At least you won’t be asked to sew.”

Shireen acquiesces to that. Considering Rickon’s insistence of calling her _princess_ , he never once asked or expected her to carry on with typical ladies’ duties. The moment after he asked her to be his Hand, he gave her responsibilities that she would have to do for that title, never belittling them. Shireen drafted laws for his consideration, gave out penalties for breaking the laws of the North, managed the keep even when Rickon was present, and often acted on his behalf when he was absent. It is far more responsibility than one would ever give a woman, and Shireen knew that his queen would never be given tasks like hers.

A loud _thump_ throws off Shireen’s thoughts. She glances over to find Rickon seated beside her with a small plate of sweets in hand. “I brought you a treat, princess,” he says. After glancing over to Lyanna, he adds on, “that you may share with Lady Lyanna.”

Taking the plate slowly, Shireen offers the plate to Lyanna, who snags a dessert without a question. Shireen however, turns back to Rickon after placing it on the table. “Whatever for?”

Rickon blinks at her before shaking his head. “For my wolf’s poor behavior earlier,” he tells her. “I should give him a proper punishment as well.”

“Shaggydog returned us from Winter Town,” Shireen tells Rickon. “He was quite kind after spooking our horses away.”

Lyanna rolls her eyes, leaning across the table. “It was terrifying, and I shall never to it again,” Lyanna declares. “Ride the beast all you want, but leave me out of it!”

Rickon laughs loudly, starting in on his meal. Shireen watches him through the corner of her eye as he chews slowly, sparing her glances occasionally. It continues throughout the meal. The both of them share conversation with Lyanna until she leaves for bed, and Rickon’s attentions only amplify after that.

“Are you truly well, princess?” he asks her. They have returned to her rooms, and he sits on the far edge of the featherbed, pulling off his boots.

“I am perfectly fine,” Shireen tells him. “Should I not be?”

Shaking his head slowly, Rickon removes his tunic and breeches. “No,” he responds. “Shaggy only had me concerned. He is not usually so protective.”

Shireen smiles at him, untying her dress. “Perhaps you shouldn’t punish him for thinking of my health,” she says. Climbing into the bed, Shireen curls into Rickon’s side. His arm goes around her to tug her closer. “He may save me in the future.”

“As long as I can have you,” Rickon murmurs. He rolls into her, grabbing her leg behind the knee and hooking it over his hip.

Shireen braces herself against him, stretching up to kiss him. Rickon responds immediately, deepening the kiss and pushing her back into the pillows. Small hums and moans fill the air as Shireen pulls Rickon directly over her. He goes willingly, only pulling away to drop kisses elsewhere on her skin. He makes good work of her breasts, making her back arch off the featherbed. Shireen hands dig into his hair to pull him back, but Rickon keeps on moving lower until he presses into her with his tongue to bring her pleasure. Gasping loudly, Shireen squirms to increase their friction, moving up into him. He holds her steady until she peaks, taking himself in hand.

Pulling him back for a kiss, Shireen replaces his hand with hers, positioning him so he can find his own pleasure in her. There is no coaxing, only the slight pressure of being stretched as he fills her. Then, the rhythm takes them over. It is a rhythm they know well after many moons, and Shireen knows exactly how to draw out the experience for him. She waits until he is straining to hold himself back before she stops him, moving over so he can press into her from behind.

It is then that he becomes greedy. Rickon pulls her up to knead at her breasts, to kiss her neck, and to hold her hips firmly against his as he drives into her. Shireen simply murmurs out encouragements to him, increasing their pace until he finally finishes inside her. Rickon bites down on her neck when he does, making her moan loudly. He quickly catches himself, kissing over the spot and rubbing it with his tongue as he returns her to the bed. Shireen nearly collapses down, dragging him with her.

Rickon’s laughter returns then and she knows that he is jesting with her. Shireen doesn’t give him time to talk, though. She kisses him until they are settled, moving her hand over his chest until he drifts off with his nose buried in her hair.


	16. Chapter 16

Weeks pass in this manner before Shireen realizes that something is off. Rickon has been sneaking her more and more strange looks, ranging from concern to amusement to worry and contentment. There is little that Shireen can make of it until he brings her sweets again without cause.

The memory returns to her. Shireen easily recalls Rickon’s first delivery of sweets after his first experience with her moonblood. While he hasn’t always given her sweets during her moonsickness, Rickon has always done _something_ for her. He once went out hunting so his servants could prepare her favorite meal. He also brought her small gifts and trinkets, or books to read in bed. Sometimes, he would have her meals delivered to her, often with pastries. 

Sitting down at her desk, Shireen begins counting. She finds odd ways to remember the number of days that have passed: riding trips with Lyanna, meals she had, hearing grievances. Shireen’s numbers become so mixed up, that she digs out a scrap of parchment to keep a tally on. After going through it several times, Shireen figures that she has not had her moonblood in nearly two moons. She frowns at the parchment. Somehow, she cannot bring herself to believe that a child has quickened within her. Other explanations must exist for the loss of her moonsickness. Shireen fails to think of any, and becomes overwhelmed with the truth of the matter.

She never asked Rickon about having his child. Nor did she ever intend to act without his permission. While she is fairly certain he would let her carry a bastard, she cannot possibly allow herself to keep this from him. If his child is growing within her, then she needs to tell him.

Shireen bites her tongue hard. There is no way for her to explain the matter properly—to excuse her actions. She must be direct with him and figure out how she should act when she tells him. Swallowing hard, Shireen prepares herself to tell him, but she cannot find Rickon anywhere in Winterfell.

Wandering the keep, Shireen tries to find him, thinking of what she will tell him when she does. The nerves only build as he evades her, and it takes her until midday to realize that Rickon is nowhere in Winterfell. Crossing her arms, Shireen looks out to the yard, standing on the battlements. Rickon had told her whenever he’d be leaving recently, even if he was only gone for a few hours. There is no reason for his sudden disappearance. Sighing, Shireen leans onto the wall, knowing that she will have to wait for nightfall to have his company.

Rickon never appears.

The worry in Shireen mounts as she spends all night waiting for Rickon to return. When it is obvious that he has no intentions to do so, she pulls on a heavy fur and walks over to his rooms, wondering if he has simply had enough of her company. Perhaps she was just a conquest for him. Maybe he wanted to know how long he could have her before he got bored. Shireen sighs, trying to convince her that it isn’t true. Rickon’s rooms are empty, which does nothing to calm her nerves.

She feels as if she will be sick as she slowly returns to her rooms, pressing her hands over her still-flat belly. Maybe she was simply overreacting. It is possible she simply doesn’t know the reason for the loss of her moonblood.

Instead of sleeping, Shireen makes her way to the library. She flicks through every book she can find, looking for another explanation to content herself with. Unfortunately, records on women are few, and details regarding moonsickness are even rarer. It doesn’t stop Shireen from pulling every book she can. She reads through them all quickly, dragging a lantern with her as she grabs and replaces books for every detail she can find. Nothing is there to offer her any comfort. Shireen has taken down every book with even the slightest possibility of offering her comfort, and Rickon cannot help set her mind at ease when he is not in Winterfell.

Her only comfort becomes that everyone else in Winterfell is also frazzled by their lord’s sudden disappearance. His council meets, and Shireen sits quietly at her seat for a majority of the time. All the lords turn to her, though. It takes a long time for Shireen to devise a plan that isn’t just waiting for Rickon’s return, but she does so after some encouragement from Lyanna. Shireen hears nothing beyond that, so consumed as she is with her thoughts. Not knowing if she is supposed to dismiss the council, Shireen leaves early, returning her rooms and collapsing onto her featherbed.

Shireen pulls at the ties of her dress, absently wondering when she will need to have larger dresses made. A sob builds up in her chest, and Shireen curls up looking down at her belly as the tears start to fall. Regardless of what happens, she will have this child. If Rickon wants no part of its life, then she can leave and keep the last memory she has of him.

It isn’t long before Shireen nods off, praying to every god she has ever heard of that Rickon returns soon.

He doesn’t.

Every day that Rickon doesn’t appear in Winterfell is another day of tremendous debate Shireen has with herself. She could see the maester, explain that she didn’t want a bastard, and try his solutions. However, she already knows what a difficult time she had conceiving the child in the first place, and Shireen will not risk the chance of never having another, bastard or not. Instead, the new possibilities swallow her up, and she does not leave her room for days.

Lyanna finds her after a fortnight, barging in with a basket of food on her arm. “Now, now, my lady, I would think you were ill had you called a maester,” she says, striding into the room.

Shireen rolls over slowly. She had dressed for the day before slumping back to the featherbed with a book. She gives Lyanna a weak smile. “I have not been feeling up to par,” she mumbles out. Absently, Shireen ties her gown again. She no longer knows if she should tie them as she had before or if she should make them looser. Shireen frowns down at the fabric.

Walking into the room, Lyanna places the basket on her bed before wandering about. She comes back with a pair of Shireen’s riding boots. “We’re going riding,” she tells Shireen firmly. “You need something new to look at, and I am sick of staying in the keep.”

“Mayhap _you_ should call a maester,” Shireen japes, sitting back.

Lyanna groans. She crosses the room, ties Shireen’s gown for her, and shoves the boots onto her feet. After watching Lyanna struggle with the task, Shireen realizes that Lyanna has likely always had handmaidens and doesn’t know how to complete the task. Brushing her away, Shireen finishes with her boots. Lyanna returns with a cloak and a warm smile.

Shireen sighs, pulling the cloak over her shoulders. Sluggishly, Shireen follows Lyanna out to the stables, feeding off the other woman’s enthusiasm. Lyanna provides plenty, watching as their horses are saddled up and a step is set out for her to mount. Shireen copies Lyanna, feeling like she is going through the motions more than anything.

Riding out, the cool wind whips around them. The North has been clear of storms for the past few weeks, and Shireen finds whatever comfort she can in having the fresh air in her lungs. They ride out north for some time, skirting around the edge of the wolfswood. It is a nice ride, and Shireen eventually forgets her worries for the time being. They tie up their horses and Lyanna sets out the food she prepares for her ride. Shireen eats in silence for a long time, just letting Lyanna talk aimlessly about anything. It isn’t until Lyanna looks at her expectantly that Shireen realizes she should talk.

“I’m sorry, what?” Shireen asks, licking her fingers.

Lyanna rolls her eyes, sitting back. She stares at Shireen for a minute. “Is it King Stark?”

Shireen frowns. “Is what him?”

“You’ve not left your rooms unless absolutely necessary for weeks,” Lyanna says. “A maid even told me that you don’t eat your meals sometimes. Are you sad that he is gone? He’ll return.”

“No,” Shireen lies, busying herself with more food. “I’ve just not been feeling well.”

Lyanna doesn’t seem to believe her, but she lets the conversation drop. She moves onto safer topics, carrying them through the meal until they return to their horses. Shireen is immensely thankful that Lyanna didn’t press the topic, and she resolves to spend more time with Lyanna. Perhaps, she will even confide her fears in the other woman when she is ready to admit what has happened. It is still too new to her, though, so Shireen holds it close to her heart until she is prepared to mull over everything.

A small cough comes from behind her, and Shireen turns. She expects to find Lyanna, but she is met with confusion from the other woman. Lyanna slowly steps out, moving around the tree to find the source of the noise. Shireen follows cautiously, and they find a woman only a few feet into the woods.

She is lying on her side, coughing occasionally. She doesn’t look up at their approach, falling into another fit of coughs. Lyanna tugs Shireen’s sleeve, obviously signaling that they should leave. Shireen steps forward, though. The woman starts mumbling out some garbled words, only somewhat recognizable as the Old Tongue. Tentatively, Shireen mumbles out a small _hello_ back at her.

The woman looks up, and she is far older than Shireen expects. Her hair is choppy and short, but Shireen can spot streaks of grey in it. The woman’s bloodshot eyes narrow slightly, and she murmurs out a string of the Old Tongue that Shireen can scarcely distinguish with her limited knowledge of the language, particularly since Rickon refuses to tell her the meaning of words until she can pronounce them perfectly. Shireen shakes her head slowly, taking another step forward. The woman slumps forward, a small smile on her face. Shireen thinks she is asleep until she says, “ _Princess_.”

Shireen’s eyes widen, and she kneels at the woman’s side. Lyanna’s soft gasp is enough of a warning for Shireen to keep away, but she presses a hand to the woman’s forehead. She has somehow managed to actually fall asleep, and her body is completely limp.

“She needs a maester,” Shireen says, tossing a look back to Lyanna.

“She’s a wildling,” Lyanna replies, as if that is reason enough to leave this woman in the wolfswood. “We should go.”

Shireen shakes her head, trying to lift the woman up. “Help me,” she tells Lyanna.

Lyanna groans loudly, but she goes to Shireen’s side. Together, they slowly manage to place the woman over Shireen’s horse. Mounting up, Shireen tries to keep her horse steady for the ride back. Lyanna hurries ahead of them, but Shireen isn’t sure if it’s for distance or to help the woman faster. However, she is still a distance from Winterfell when a party comes out to her. The men move the woman with ease, taking her back to the keep as Shireen follows after them.

Weaving through the keep, Shireen makes her way to the maester’s chambers. She contents herself with how he is tending to her. A part of her brain starts to think that she will be here in a handful of moons, giving birth to a babe. Shireen swallows the thought as Lyanna slides up to her.

“She is just a wildling,” Lyanna says. “Why bother saving her?”

Shireen sighs, trying to find another way to explain the significance of being called _princess_ in the foreign tongue. “Rickon has told me that the wildlings are under his protection,” she says instead. “He would want them taken care of.”

Lyanna has a smirk on her face. She seems to have heard none of what Shireen just said. “Rickon?” she questions.

“King Stark, then,” Shireen says, brushing the matter away. “He leaves to give them counsel. He must have told her to come to Winterfell while he is busy.”

“He goes to the wildlings?” Lyanna asks, looking back to the woman.

Shireen nods, watching the maester drop milk of the poppy down the woman’s throat. “He does not trust any northerners to deal with them,” she says. “Particularly as they don’t speak the common tongue, nor can they write. They must only know the Old Tongue.”

“You knew the Old Tongue,” Lyanna points out.

Shireen feels her face flush. “I asked King Stark to teach me a few phrases,” she says slowly.

“Like what?” Lyanna asks.

The blush grows deeper when Shireen remembers how often she used _can I fuck you?_ to get Rickon away from his duties. She swallows hard, thankful that Lyanna is still looking into the room. “Hello. How are you. It is snowing… Simple phrases,” she says instead.

Lyanna nods. “Well, we have a guest at Winterfell now,” she says. “I wonder when she will wake.”

Shireen wonders the same thing on the way back to her rooms. For a few days, Shireen becomes preoccupied in tending to the woman, little as she does for her. The wildling doesn’t wake, and Shireen simply sits at her bedside, waiting for the day when she will get an explanation of what she meant in calling her _Princess_. When it is clear that the wildling will not wake for an indeterminate amount of time, Shireen starts to worry again. She isn’t entirely sure what she was hoping for, what the wildling could tell her that would set her mind at ease. The days seem to grow longer as Shireen waits them out, infuriating Lyanna with her attention to the wildling.

Another moon passes and Shireen does not have her moonsickness. She expects it now, and her fears only grow deeper. A few times, she considers leaving Winterfell. Shireen could simply disappear before Rickon’s return. She could find some place to live for a time, have the child, and try to convince Rickon that it is just a bastard. Fleetingly, Shireen wonders what their child will look like—if they will have the Baratheon look, or be as much of a Tully as Rickon. Her heart swells thinking of a small boy with wild curls like Rickon’s, but in her mind’s eye, he is always there with her. Rickon would never abandon his child, and Shireen would not wish to separate them.

She sighs, wandering over to the window. Shireen has taken to reading at the bedside of the wildling woman, waiting to see when she’ll wake. Outside, snow has continued to fall. The North seems to be ignoring the coming summer, and Shireen remembers the long winter that was plagued with war. After so many years on the freezing battlefront, she was desperate for warmth. Her warmth doesn’t exist in weather anymore, though. She isn’t even sure if it exists in Rickon. All her hopes and optimism for her future are entirely within her now—with the child quickening in her stomach.

Even with the time that has passed, her stomach has yet to swell. Shireen has not mentioned it to the maester, wanting to keep attention away from herself, but she continuously wonders whether or not her experience is normal. There are no books in the library to help her. There is no one she can write for information. Shireen is only left to speculate on whether or not the child in her is appropriately being cared for.

Shireen smiles, rubbing at her stomach gently. Regardless of whether Rickon wants to acknowledge her child as his heir or bastard, it will be hers. Even without his support, she is perfectly capable of raising the babe on her own, and she knows enough to sell her skills to raise a child. She could survive. She could live on her own, raising the last memory she has of Rickon Stark.

However, Shireen cannot fathom a world where she keeps this truth from him. She doesn’t know how Rickon would feel about having a child—about _her_ having his child. With all the years they’ve spent coming together and the moons of increased intimacy, he certainly enjoyed her company. But does he like her enough to want a child with her? Shireen ignores all the questions her brain thinks up. The answers don’t matter anymore. The child is hers. No matter what Rickon wants of her or her babe, it will be hers.

 

 

It is another fortnight before the wildling woman wakes. Shireen hovers outside the door of the maester’s chambers, waiting for the woman to stay awake for more than a few minutes for food. It takes a few days, but Shireen eventually edges her way into the room. The wildling woman turns to her at the slightest sound, her dark eyes moving over Shireen’s body quickly before settling on her greyscale. Again, Shireen remembers Rickon’s words about being in danger around wildlings because of her greyscale. Swallowing hard, Shireen tries to remember all of the words she knows in the Old Tongue, hoping that she can learn something from this woman.

“ _Hello_ ,” Shireen says slowly.

The wildling simply stares at her, her eyes never leaving the greyscale.

“ _Are you well_?” Shireen tries, wracking her brain and hoping that nothing sounds garbled. She watches the wildling’s gaze shift, looking over her eyes, down to her stomach, and back to her greyscale. Shireen swallows again, thinking that she will surely start fumbling her words. “ _Do you know the king_?”

The wildling woman smiles, then. She lets out a small scoff and turns to look out the window. Her voice is hoarse when she starts talking, but her words come too soft and too fast for Shireen to properly discern. Shireen gets caught up on the words she does know. _Little, told, Skagos, lord, castle, princess_ … Shireen’s brow furrows.

“I’m sorry,” she starts in the common tongue. She stops herself, thinking of how to ask the woman to slow down. “ _Not understanding_ ,” she tries instead. “ _Slower, please._ ”

The woman gives her a long look, sitting up in the small bed. Instead of speaking in sentences, she only says a few words at a time until Shireen nods to show her understanding. “ _Magnar_ ,” the wildling says.

“Yes,” Shireen says quickly before catching herself. She makes the proper correction. “ _Yes. Magnar. Rickon?_ ”

“ _Yes_ ,” the woman replies. She tries again until Shireen lights up.

Shireen tries to translate for herself, mumbling under her breath to make sense of the wildling’s words. Again, she is piecing words together. Shireen furrows her brow when she thinks she has it, shaking her head fiercely. Surely she can’t have actually meant _war_. “No,” Shireen mumbles. “He can’t have… Skagos is… He went to war? Um, _War on Skagos_?”

The woman nods, and Shireen feels her heart sink. The wildling starts again, shifting back to complete sentences before Shireen’s eyes widen and she shakes her head roughly. The woman sighs loudly. She starts gesticulating along with her words in the Old Tongue, and Shireen makes her best attempt at translating, hoping that she is not seriously misunderstanding this woman. After a good amount of confusion from both of them they finally settle on a phrase.

“ _King Stark_?” Shireen asks, watching the woman’s odd gestures. She still hasn’t quite discerned the meaning, but she tries anyway. The wildling mimes putting something on her head several times before something clicks. “A coronation? A, um, _king_ …” Shireen fails at thinking up a term that would mean _coronation_ in the Old Tongue, and she awkwardly adds on a multitude of syllables to _king_ until the woman nods.

Shireen frowns, watching the woman and wondering if it was a joke. Surely, if Rickon meant to properly take the throne as king, he would have sent proper word back and not just this wildling woman. At any rate, Rickon knew how to read and write. He could have sent word back in his own hand instead of trusting her poor translating skills. Shireen sighs, thinking that perhaps the wildling villages on the Gift didn’t have any means of writing. Certainly, the war would have been pressing enough for Rickon to deal with, and he wasn’t concerned about it.

Instead of thinking through all of Rickon’s past actions, Shireen tries to think through the future. If Rickon truly asked them to prepare for his coronation, he must mean to take the throne. He would either sit on it alone, or also have to take a wife soon. She shakes her head slowly trying to translate before speaking to the wildling woman.

“Rickon… _He needs a queen_ ,” Shireen says, simply trying to make _king_ sound feminine.

The woman stares at Shireen for a long time. When she speaks, she does so very slowly. “ _He has a queen._ ”

Immediately, Shireen sits up straighter. She isn’t sure what the wildling woman means—if, somehow, Rickon has actually been lying to her about having spearwives. Shireen narrows her eyes at the woman, keeping her head even. This woman only just came into her life. There was no reason for Shireen to trust this woman more than Rickon. Slowly, Shireen stands. Regardless of whether the woman was telling the truth, she needs to tell the castellan and the council everything she knows.

Shireen stops at the door, turning back into the room and meeting the gaze of the woman. “Do you speak the common tongue?” she asks evenly.

The woman’s mouth twitches up into the shadow of a smile. “Yes,” she croaks out. Before Shireen can say anything further, the woman turns onto her side, pulls a fur over her body, and allows herself to fall asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

“War?” Lord Umber is nearly shouting the hastily-called council meeting.

Shireen cannot even allow herself to be annoyed with him. She simply lets him continue on.

“Our king is at war while we sit in his keep?” Lord Umber continues on. He stands swiftly, drawing his sword. “We should be at his side.”

Lyanna scowls at the man. “Your anger does not require live steel at a council meeting,” she says sharply. “Had King Stark saw fit to call armies, he would have. At the very least, he’d have delegated to his Hand.”

“This woman?” Lord Glover interjects, waving over to Shireen. He seems to catch his mistake immediately. “Forgive me, my lady, but I do not think you understand the position that Winterfell is in with the King at war.”

Shireen has a hard time swallowing this information. It is the longest Rickon has ever been away from Winterfell, nearly two moons now, and she fears more for her stomach starting to swell than Rickon’s safety. A part of her almost wishes to declare that his heir grows within her, that Winterfell isn’t weak at all, but she knows that she has no proof for such a claim. Shireen takes a deep breath, meeting Lord Glover’s gaze directly.

“I am certain that our king knew what he was doing at the time,” she says calmly. “We have been without his company nearly two moons now. Sending an army to aid him would take another, travel to Skagos is perilous even for the most skilled captains, and we do not even know how he fares.”

Shireen looks over to Lyanna, receiving a small nod from the woman. The other lords look peeved at her words, obviously craving more action. Gathering her thoughts, Shireen tries to formulate a plan. Before she can speak, Lord Tallhart cuts her off.

“If you are his Hand, then you are responsible for calling his banners,” he spits out. “You come claiming you understand the Old Tongue from this woman, yet you refuse to act on her words.”

“Call back Lord Thenn,” Lord Glover adds. “He speaks the Old Tongue and can learn for true what this wildling says.”

Lyanna scoffs loudly. “You would disobey your king and call Lord Thenn back so soon?” she asks. “King Stark wishes for Lord Thenn to see his child’s first nameday.”

“Better that then find we have no king at all,” Lord Umber counters, staring down at Lyanna. He may have put his sword away, but he has refused to sit. “Acting for him is better than sitting here.”

Shireen sighs deeply. She stands slowly, leveling a glare over to Lord Umber. “We will not disobey King Stark’s orders,” she says firmly. She turns to Lyanna. “Lady Mormont, you will find the most seasoned sailor currently in Winterfell. Lord Umber, you will take a _very_ small company of men to Last Hearth. There, you will write back to Winterfell to report back before attempting to sail to Skagos and checking on our king. Do you understand?”

Though Shireen can see that Lord Umber is seething, he gives her a curt nod before Shireen dismisses the council. She waits patiently for them all to clear the room. Then, she immediately heads over to the chambers of the wildling woman. This time, she doesn’t turn at Shireen’s entrance. Shireen takes a seat at her bedside, clearing her throat gently.

“What is your name?” Shireen asks.

The wildling doesn’t even turn to acknowledge her.

“Where is Rickon?” Shireen tries again. She is determined to speak in the common tongue with this woman, to hear her say something more than _yes_.

The wildling woman turns over, her gaze traveling all over Shireen’s body. Shireen tries not to let it worry her, thinking instead that there is a plentitude of information this woman has refused to give her. She cannot slip if this woman truly understands the language, though. Shireen cannot allow any of her weaknesses show. Somehow, the woman knows to let her gaze linger of Shireen’s belly. Even though it has yet to swell, Shireen has started feeling fuller, as if another weight is inside her. She thinks her stomach may betray her soon, or that she will become ill as women do when they are with child.

After an hour of asking questions to no response, Shireen gives up, mumbling out sentences in the Old Tongue. “ _Will you speak?_ ” Shireen asks weakly.

The wildling woman nods, before speaking very rapidly in the Old Tongue. Only small bits of information get through to Shireen, but the woman doesn’t slow.

“I cannot understand you when you speak so quickly,” Shireen tells her, trying to make her voice sharp instead of sounding as frail as she feels. “ _Please_.”

The wilding scoffs, muttering out another short phrase.

Shireen gets caught up on a word, muttering it to herself so she won’t forget it. She repeats it louder, drawing the woman’s attention. “What does that mean?” Shireen asks. She says it again, trying to remember how Rickon said it.

The woman bows her head slightly, hiding a smile. She says a similar sentence just as quickly, and Shireen becomes frustrated. She stands quickly, walking around the room with her arms crossed a few times. She tries to communicate with the woman further to no avail, and leaves the room. Instead of stomping back to her own room, Shireen goes to Rickon’s. She needs something of him right now, something to make her feel like she hasn’t completely destroyed everything. Though his rooms are far colder than hers, Shireen does nothing to warm them up. She curls up on his large featherbed, burrowing under the fur and tries to think.

Shireen’s mind wanders erratically with all the recent events. Lately, she hasn't been able to think through anything in a rational matter. Regardless of what is presented to her, Shireen can only recycle old strategies and ideas before she becomes preoccupied with thoughts of her child and how everything will affect her in the coming months.

For the next week, Shireen interrogates the wildling woman, refusing to switch back to the Old Tongue for her comfort. It gets to the point where Shireen asks questions and the woman responds in the foreign language. Shireen can never understand her, and she feels as if she is being cheated of the information. A part of her resolves to force Rickon to finish teaching her the language, even if he hates her for carrying his child. Never again does she want to feel such a fool because of a tongue that most wildlings know. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Shireen says slowly, staring down the wildling woman. “You refuse to speak the common tongue.”

The wildling woman gives her a look, and Shireen hates that she cannot even read the expression of this old woman. She sighs out heavily. The wildling speaks another quick phrase.

“This means nothing,” Shireen tells her. “I do not understand.”

“ _Yes, you do_ ,” the wildling says firmly. She adds on another quick sentence, and Shireen’s fury only mounts.

“I will not ask the northmen to prepare for Rickon’s coronation on your word,” Shireen says, sitting up straight. “Besides he needs a wife first.”

The wildling rolls her eyes, looking annoyed. “ _He has a wife_.”

Shireen has heard that sentence far too often to feel entirely comfortable with whatever it means. She refuses to let any interpretation of it form in her mind, though. Shireen has no idea what it could possibly mean for her, and she will not allow herself to think on what it can mean for her child. Already, she fears that her stomach is swelling, and Shireen checks it habitually to assure herself that no one knows of her condition. She stands to leave the room.

The wildling woman speaks another sentence. Shireen frowns. The sentence is familiar enough. Shireen hears the wildling speak it every time she comes, but Shireen cannot interpret it. She doesn’t know enough words and she feels that the one she does is incorrect. Taking a deep breath, Shireen ignores the woman and readies herself for bed.

She stays in her chambers just long enough to change into her nightgown and check that her stomach has not miraculously grown in the past few hours. There is little discernible change, and Shireen contents herself with the knowledge that no one has commented on it. Even Lyanna’s gaze doesn’t linger, and Shireen knows that Lyanna would ask her at first notice of it. Wrapping a cloak over her shoulders, Shireen makes her way over to Rickon’s room.

Though it is much colder than her own, Shireen finds a greater kind of peace in his room most nights. She settles into his bed quickly, piling the furs over her and sliding her hands over her stomach. Shireen knows that she is quickly hitting the end of her secrecy here. Soon, she will be completely incapable of hiding her growing belly, and she will have to live with whatever consequences that brings. Shireen convinces herself that everything will be fine, that she can live contentedly with her bastard and never have to find comfort in anyone else. The back of her mind picks at her, though. Shireen sighs. She knows that she harbors hopes of Rickon’s acceptance, that he will claim the child and consider wedding her. However, Shireen refuses to let the thought take root, knowing full well that he could just as easily toss her aside.

 

 

Shireen wakes late. She knows the patterns of the household to give it little mind. No one will tend to Rickon’s rooms while they think him gone, so Shireen leisurely makes her way out of bed. She pulls the furs back into place, smoothing them out before returning to her room to dress for the day. As she ties up her gown and inspects her stomach again, someone knocks on her door rather forcefully. Shireen turns to check that the bolt is in place, finishing with her gown before opening it. Lyanna rushes in past her.

“Stark banners,” Lyanna says excitedly, taking a seat on Shireen’s bed. She looks down at the immaculate sheets, frowning at them slightly.

“What?” Shireen asks, searching for her boots.

Groaning, Lyanna grabs her arm and drags Shireen over to the window, throwing it open. Shireen looks out to the snow, finding a mass of white everywhere. Lyanna points with great enthusiasm, but Shireen can make out nothing.

“Lord Umber didn’t make it to Last Hearth,” Lyanna explains. “Our King shall be here tonight. Though, I question Starks for making their banners white with all this snow—difficult to see. We’ve sent riders out, though.”

“Tonight?” Shireen asks, turning to Lyanna.

Lyanna nods happily. “Then, he can talk to that wildling woman and tell us what she means.”

Shireen swallows hard. Slowly, she steps away from the window, trying to find her boots again. She is gripped by terror with this announcement. Though she planned to tell Rickon everything to moment he returned, she has yet to devise any actual words for their meeting. She thought she had time. She thought she would be prepared. Quickly, Shireen puts on her usual demeanor. She follows Lyanna down to the main hall, seeing to the preparations for Rickon’s return.

Lyanna chatters on and on about his homecoming, and Shireen tries to join in the enthusiasm as much as possible. Nerves completely take her over. Nothing helps Shireen settle for his return. Hours pass, and the sun sets. The pounding of drums reaches Shireen’s ears. It unsettles her, even though Lyanna rushes out to meet the men. Instead, Shireen makes for the battlements.

The party approaches slowly, and the echoing cry of _STARK! STARK!_ assaults her. The banners come into view soon, noticeable by anyone in Winterfell. Shireen watches as the gate opens, letting all of Lord Umber’s men spill in along with an indeterminable amount of wildlings. Rickon rides in behind them, seated atop Shaggydog. Shireen cannot stop her smile when she sees him, knowing that he is well. Rickon certainly looks happy, scanning the crowd until he starts frowning. His face lights up minimally as he dismounts, and Shireen sees him walking straight over to Lyanna. With a large smile, Lyanna curtsies for Rickon. He leans in close, though, speaking something in her ear. Lyanna nods quickly, smiling again. She glances around before frowning, and then she hurries into the keep with Rickon at her heels.

Sighing, Shireen tries to organize her mind. Nothing has made sense to her since discovering she is with child, and Shireen is incredibly nervous at seeing Rickon again. Hiding on the battlements, Shireen steadies herself before heading back into the keep. She slowly wanders the empty halls, knowing that the men are gathering in the hall for a feast. Out of habit, Shireen passes the maester’s chambers. Though the door is closed, Shireen hears voices within. She almost stops to eavesdrop before she recognizes the Old Tongue. Knowing the effort is useless, Shireen keeps on until she hears words she understands.

“And your woman?”

Shireen freezes mid-step, hearing the wildling woman speak clearly for once. Her heart is leaping out of her chest, and she waits eagerly for Rickon’s response.

“She will be my queen,” Rickon says immediately.

The wildling responds in the Old Tongue, speaking a phrase Shireen can barely remember. Rickon laughs, but it stops when the woman repeats it. Then, he is eager again, asking questions back to her quickly. Shireen can no longer follow the language, and she prays for a slip before remembering herself. Ladies do not eavesdrop. Biting her tongue, Shireen slowly leaves the keep, seeking peace outside.

Rickon is so close. He is far closer than he has been in months, and she has only seen him run off with Lyanna before he went to converse with the wildling woman. He knows how to find her. He has a direwolf. If he wanted her company, he would have sought it.

Before the thought finds comfort in Shireen’s mind, she crashes into Shaggydog. Shireen stumbles a bit, having been caught unawares. The direwolf steps around her, making a looser circle than before and licking at her face. Shireen smiles before she can help herself, digging her hands into the direwolf’s coat and dragging him close.

“Oh, I missed you,” Shireen mumbles out. She breathes into the direwolf’s fur, relaxing until the chill of the North hits her. Shaggydog becomes persistent then, nudging her back into the keep before running off. Shireen tries to follow after him, but she quickly loses him to her exhaustion.

The loud calls from the hall bring her attention back, and Shireen remembers the feast. Rickon must have just entered to cause a reaction like that. She expects that his bannermen will quickly call him from the table to hear of his stories of war. Waiting a while, Shireen allows the noise of the hall to settle. Shaggydog appears at her side, nudging her toward the room.

Shireen shushes the direwolf gently, rubbing him between the ears and waiting a few minutes more before sneaking in. As expected, Rickon is down with his guests, recounting tales from Skagos. A few of his men join him in the stories as well, and Rickon allows them time to talk, slumping back in his chair. Shireen can see the exhaustion in him, how tired he is, and how he stays awake simply for the glory of the wildlings.

Stealing a plate from the table, Shireen finds a seat at the edge of the hall. She doesn’t wish to call attention to herself tonight: not when Rickon’s presence assures his men’s safety during the feast. She picks at the food slowly, watching as Rickon is pulled from table to table to tell his story. He drags a man with him every time, rarely speaking himself. He is immensely comfortable here, finding the balance between the northmen and the wildlings. A few times, Rickon looks back to the main table, frowning at finding it empty.

No one will find Shireen tonight, though. She is covered in shadows, mostly for fear of her child’s safety. Should any wildlings find her particularly offensive, she knows that they will not hesitate to attack, and she cannot allow her child to be harmed. So she watches on from her spot, letting the festivities rise and fall around her.

When everyone is well into their cups, Shireen sees Rickon being pulled to dance by a multitude of women. He clumsily walks around, crashing into them before finding a seat again. Shireen knows it is not for true. Close as she has been watching him, she has not once seen Rickon take a drink of wine. He is sober enough when he snags Lyanna by the wrist, forcing her down to whisper in her ear. Lyanna nods, giving him a smile that he quickly returns. He pulls her close again, muttering something in her ear before giving her a small kiss on the cheek.

Shireen feels her stomach churn, even as Lyanna shoves him away with a jape. The feeling does not leave her, though. Not even as Rickon rolls his eyes and finds a dessert to shove in his mouth. His gaze drifts over to where she hides, and Shireen sinks down further. No longer does she wish to be found by him, and she waits until he turns to slip from the hall. 

Swallowing hard, Shireen stumbles into Shaggydog again. The direwolf sniffs at her hair before pressing his head into her, aiming her back to the hall. Shireen shakes her head gently. “No, Shaggy,” she mutters. “I would only speak to him alone.”

Slowly, Shireen makes it back to her chambers, thinking that she will wait for morning to tell Rickon. However, her feet take her to his rooms, and Shireen spins about in confusion until she slumps onto his bed. She doesn’t know what she’s doing anymore, if any of it ever made sense given what she knows of him. Shireen refuses to feel sorry for herself. Her decision is already made, no matter Rickon’s thoughts on it.

Her child would only be hers, and it need not concern him. Rickon can take whoever he wants as a wife and queen. After all, she is his Hand and only carries a bastard. None of it would affect him, and Shireen assures herself that this is true. She only needs to confirm it on the morrow. Still, Shireen would prefer to leave his chambers before he finds her, so she gathers herself.

Standing, Shireen smooths his bed back into place, hiding any evidence of being in his room. She slowly moves to the door, reaching for the handle before she hears it rattle. Stepping away quickly, Shireen presses her back to the wall, knowing that she will be hidden when the door swings open. The door cracks open before pausing, and Shireen doesn’t think on whatever the possibilities may be. She simply waits.


	18. Chapter 18

After a moment, the door opens in its entirety, and Shireen only just stops it from crushing her against the wall. Whoever has entered doesn’t bother closing it, and she hears their footsteps cross the chamber. As carefully as she can, Shireen pushes the door away. She glances out into the room. Rickon stands alone in the center of it. He stands before his bed, his head hanging. Then, he shakes his head with a sigh and takes off his doublet.

Shireen is entirely captivated by the form of him. He stands tall in his room before he slouches. She watches as he tries to shake the exhaustion a few times. The auburn of his hair looks brown again, and it is slightly longer when Rickon runs his fingers through it. There is a strong pull coming from deep in her stomach, and Shireen knows that it is only the attraction to him that makes her want to step out closer.

She does, shutting the door farther. As she goes, she loosens her gown some, waiting until she is a few paces behind him. Shireen swallows hard. “My lord?”

Rickon stiffens for a moment before he turns. There is a small smile on his face, and he lets out a long sigh. “ _Princess_.”

Reaching out for him, Shireen fists a hand in his tunic. She drags him close, and her other hand goes into his hair. Rickon gives her no resistance, finding her waist with his own hands. She presses up to her toes at the same time he leans down, and their lips meet again. Shireen longs for him, feeling the pressure building up in her stomach. Her hand fists in his hair, and she whimpers against his mouth. Rickon pulls her flush against his body, his arms sliding possessively around her back until one slackens to lift her completely. Shireen gasps sharply, gripping his shoulder tight and making him wince.

She pulls back slightly, but Rickon shakes his head. “No, Princess,” he says. Steadily, he walks them into the door, shutting it with the weight of their bodies. He puts his lips back against hers, breathing heavily. “I mean to have you tonight.”

“You’re injured,” Shireen mumbles, blinking up at him through her eyelashes.

Rickon’s bright green eyes find hers, and his hand slides up to her side and brushes against the swell of her breast. “Two moons without you,” he states. “I hope I have not forgotten how to bring you pleasure. I will fuck you to make up for every day I missed.”

He kisses her hard, pressing her back into the wood of his door. Shireen pulls at him in turn, drawing open his mouth and deepening their kiss. They are ravenous for each other, constantly moving toward each other and finding new purchase on the other. Shireen holds his jaw firmly, sliding her fingers over his cheekbones, and feeling the smooth skin of his face. Rickon palms at her breasts, and Shireen feels each of his movements with hypersensitivity, even though her gown is between them. She moans into his mouth until he tries to thrust into her. His grip quickly changes, moving them before his bed and setting her down carefully.

The moment her feet hit the floor, Shireen pulls at his tunic, forcing it up over his head. Rickon allows it before his hands seek out the ties of her gown, and Shireen does the same with the laces of his breeches. They are desperate to have each other again—to _feel_ the other against their bare bodies. Shireen pulls her boots off quickly, but in the heightened experience, they are clumsier. Rickon kicks off his boots before he even manages her gown, and he nearly rips it from her body. Shireen figures him out first. She slides her hands directly against the skin of his hips, dragging down his smallclothes with his breeches. He steps out of them quickly, digging his way under the hem of her skirt to toss the gown over her head, smallclothes and all. Rickon kisses her as his hands slide over her to make her as naked as he is.

Shireen moans into his mouth, feeling the reassuring warmth of him back against her. She moves into him, sliding her hands over him and tracing her fingers over all the scars she knows are new. Rickon hums contentedly against her mouth, deepening their kiss. They are flush against each other, and Shireen cannot find anything other thought in her head but _Rickon_. His kisses grow shorter, pressing her back in increments, and he pulls at her lower lip with his teeth. Blinking up at him slowly, Shireen sees the calm resolve in his eyes. Rickon is utterly composed and serene. He pulls her back to his chest, turning them so that the backs of her legs are against his bed. Close as they are, Shireen can feel the smooth skin of his arousal pressing against her.

“Can I have you, princess?” Rickon asks slowly, dipping his fingertips into her hair to comb it out.

Kissing him slowly, Shireen steps sideways and moves him closer to the bed. He inclines his head into the kiss, but Shireen pushes him back. “No, my lord,” she says evenly. “ _I_ will have _you_ tonight.”

A smile quickly grows on Rickon’s face. He leans down again to kiss her briefly. “And how do you intend to do that?”

Gathering her nerves, Shireen places her hands flat on his chest. Rickon’s grin widens when she turns his back to the bed, and he laughs when she pushes him down completely. Automatically, Rickon shuffles backwards, resting against his pillows. He grabs at the furs beneath him and rips them from the bed. Reclining back, he smiles at her.

“I am at your mercy, princess.”

Before Shireen can let the feeling of this die down, she climbs onto the featherbed. Dragging her fingers up his legs, Shireen watches his face. He looks smug at having her here, at seeing her at a loss for what to do with him. The past few weeks have made her crave him, though, and Shireen has spent far too long imagining this reunion. Moving instinctively, Shireen straddles his hip, sitting herself directly over him. His smile is still lazy, like he is daring her to do anything further—to fuck him with as much dominance and power as he has with her. Leaning onto Rickon’s chest, Shireen slowly moves her hips forward, sliding over the length of him.

Rickon’s eyes roll back into his head, and his lips part in a sigh. Watching his reactions carefully, Shireen moves over him, making his fingers dig into her thighs. He starts trying to shift her position, pressing his hips up into her and gripping at her hips to help along the process. Shireen swats his hands away, leaning forward. “I thought you were at my mercy, my lord,” Shireen murmurs, kissing at his jaw.

“You tease me, princess,” Rickon replies. His hands drag up her back until he holds her face and kisses her fully.

Shireen smiles into the kiss, reaching between them to move him before her. Rickon bucks into her, and she shifts her weight up to her knees to stop him. Rickon groans loudly. Pushing him back farther, Shireen sits just above his hips. “ _My_ mercy, Lord Stark,” she repeats. Meeting his gaze, Shireen angles her hips against his until she is sliding along him yet again.

Rickon groans, slipping his fingers against her scalp. “ _Princess…_ ”

Smiling with her success, Shireen continues on, making Rickon become entirely undone beneath her. His fingers flutter all over her body, but he keeps away from her hips in favor of dragging her back for kisses. Soon, Shireen starts moving up farther and farther, and the tip of him drags over her. Shireen sighs, stopping her movement to sink over him slowly. The sigh that escapes Rickon is the loudest Shireen has ever heard. Shifting her weight around, Shireen moves over him and finds that it is harder than she imagined. Rickon’s hands spread out over her stomach before they separate—one to her breasts, and the other to her hip. With his encouragement, Shireen keeps on. She doesn’t stop him when he helps her movements keep a rhythm, and she moans when he starts thrusting up into her.

Shireen stays over him as long as she can, until she braces herself lower and lower in her exhaustion. Rickon murmurs out a small sound of dissent. He leans up onto his elbows and strokes her face gently, right over her greyscale.

“No, no, no, princess,” he breathes out gently. “ _With me_ —finish with me.”

Nodding along, Shireen leans onto his shoulders, following his lead. Rickon keeps rocking his hips up into her, thrusting deeper and deeper into her. His hand falls to her hip, and he finds her with his thumb. Rubbing at her, Rickon builds up the pressure even further until they both spill over. Gasping loudly, Shireen feels herself tightening around him as Rickon finishes deep inside her.

Rickon forces himself up with a groan, steadying his weight by grabbing her by the hip. As the last waves of pleasure ebb away, Shireen leans forward, and Rickon catches her on his shoulder. The both of them breathe deeply, and Shireen hugs him gently to her. Shireen can still feel how their bodies are connected, how they fall into each other so easily. Rickon strokes her hair gently, letting her back to the bed slowly. He rolls her onto her back, letting her legs stretch out, and Shireen feels weaker than before.

“You are wonderful, princess,” he murmurs, sliding out of her.

Shireen immediately reaches for his waist, moving him closer. “Yet you leave me.”

Rickon grins deviously. “Should I make love to you all night?” he asks. “I have been deprived long enough that I could.”

“Won’t you get tired?” Shireen asks, turning toward him.

“For you, princess? Never.” Rickon moves until he is over her, his arms holding up his weight. He kisses her slowly, leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world.

Shireen holds him there a while, kissing him as much as she can before getting lost in other feelings. She thinks it will be difficult—that Rickon will be extremely eager. He is slow with her, though, kissing her as he would a lover, and Shireen knows that it is a title she will gladly take from him. With gentle touches and soft kisses, Rickon moves her legs about. He stretches them some before wrapping them around his waist and slowly sliding into her. Lifting her hands up, Shireen takes more kisses from him. She distantly realizes that he may never wish to bed her again once he knows that she is with child, but she shoves the thought out of her mind. If it truly is the last time she will ever bed him, then she will allow herself to be consumed with love for him and nothing else.

It feels like a long while before he pushes into her, sliding in easily and making her feel whole again. Shireen pulls him down for a kiss, humming into his mouth as he starts moving into her. The pace is slower than before, and Rickon presses their foreheads together. Exhaling, Shireen looks up at Rickon and finds that he has been staring at her the entire time. His eyes flick about her face some, settling on her mouth before he kisses her.

Rickon is entirely fixated on her the entire time, and Shireen is lost in him. He is ever constant against her, and she feels safe with him. She feels his hands start to roam again, moving down to her hips with difficulty as he tries to balance over her. His rhythm falters when he nearly falls, and Shireen giggles. She tightens her legs about his hips. Rickon smirks at her. He is still against her for a moment, and Shireen very deliberately rocks up into him.

“You are the greatest pleasure,” Rickon murmurs, grinding against her in turn.

Shireen feels as if she is being dug further into the featherbed, but she doesn’t protest in the slightest. Rickon builds up the sensations in her, and Shireen drags her fingertips against his back. She won’t be the cause of pain for him—not tonight. She contents herself with tracing patterns into his skin before she becomes preoccupied with drawing over his scars absently. Her pace changes with her breathing, and she watches Rickon groan slightly before his breaths come shorter. In the next few thrusts, he speeds up slowly, and Shireen starts matching him. She gives whatever she can in this moment, helping him along until he is short of breath and gripping into the sheet beneath her tightly. Stretching up, Shireen murmurs out sweet sounds in his ear, kissing at his face until he finds his release.

With a heavy sigh, Rickon collapses down. He catches himself before he crushes her, rotating over slightly to spare her his weight. He briefly squirms about to pull up a blanket. It traps their heat in, but without the movement from before, Shireen quickly feels the sting of the North. However, his hands never leave her. They simply roam over her body, spreading heat over her until he gently brushes the hair from her face. He is completely attentive to her hairline, combing her hair back before he kisses all across it. 

Giggling, Shireen returns the gesture, making him as composed as the king she knows he will be. She lets the lazy moment stretch out, not wanting to be the cause of its end. Rickon is overly lethargic now, slowly dragging her next to him. He buries his face in her neck, murmuring out sounds too soft for Shireen to hear. She responds with a hum, prepared to let him drift off.

It has been a full two months since Shireen has lain with Rickon and perhaps that is why she feels the loss of him so acutely. He is still wrapped around her. His arms are pulling her closer, and his nose is in her hair. Shireen slowly reaches for her stomach, hoping that he doesn't feel the changes there but knowing that she has to tell him. Her fingers lightly brush his arm on their way, and Rickon stirs. He snatches up her hand and moves it to his mouth.

“Of course,” he mumbles. Rickon leans over and kisses her greyscale. “I'll light a fire.”

Not bothering with his clothes, Rickon carefully slides from his bed, keeping her completely covered. He detours slightly and properly shuts his windows before kneeling before the brazier and shifting about the logs. Shireen swallows hard, trying to draw courage to tell him. She is still completely unprepared for this, but the moment is opportune, and she feels like she will break if she waits any longer.

“Rickon.”

He turns slightly, glancing her way before striking a bright flame.

Shireen takes the last moment before he looks back at her to blurt out the hard truth she has been living with. “Rickon, I'm pregnant.”

He freezes entirely, and Shireen waits it out. Surely, he is coming to his own conclusions and trying to figure it out himself. He knows that she had moon tea, knows that they've shared a bed for months. Shireen only hopes that he comes to terms with her decision as well. Finally, he stands again, looking toward her with an unreadable expression.

“Who does it belong to?” he asks evenly.

Though she knows he asks for her child's paternity, Shireen has already made this decision. She will stand firmly by it. “Me,” she tells him, fighting the tears in her eyes. “It is my child, and I will care for it and keep them safe.”

“Shireen,” Rickon says loudly, punctuating her name more than necessary. Shireen can see accusation in his eyes, and she tries to keep her resolve. “Who fathered your child?”

Taking a deep breath, Shireen prepares herself for the worst. She cowers back into the bed, no longer finding any comfort in it. Still, she cannot keep this from him. “You,” she says simply, bracing herself.

Rickon freezes mid-step, his eyes softening some. He blinks a few times. “What?”

“It's... it's your child, Rickon,” Shireen admits. She immediately moves to clarify her claim from before. “It need not be your bastard, though. I will have it, and raise it, and keep it myself. You needn't bother yourself with it. It will be my child, and I can manage on my own.”

She pauses before she asks him to name her child— _their_ child—as a Baratheon. Shireen knows that he has a proper claim to her child and can just as easily name it his heir. Worry and guilt well up in her chest when Rickon takes a slow step forward.

“It's... _mine_?” he asks.

Immediately, Shireen feels like making her claim again, but her strength dies out and she feels defeated. “I—yes.” She looks him directly in his eyes, waiting to see his reaction. Any optimism about this fled her system weeks ago, and now she simply waits for the repercussions of her actions.

To her great surprise, Rickon smiles. “Oh, princess,” he breathes out. Rickon quickly closes their distance, rolling over her and clumsily finding her mouth with his. He kisses her several times, rocking her in his arms. The smile slowly turns to a grin. “We are going to have a child.”

Shireen feels conflicting emotions raging within her. Of all the outcomes she'd possibly imagined, none ended like this. Pushing him away slightly, Shireen gets a good look at him. “You're not cross with me?” she asks.

Rickon shakes his head at her. “How could I be?” he asks, pecking her lightly on the lips. “You have made me the happiest man in the world.”

A massive weight feels as if it's been lifted from her shoulders, but Shireen finds new questions settling over her. She wasn't prepared for this. She didn't know what to do next. “Will it be... will you name it Stark?” she mumbles out, unable to stop the question from popping up.

“Would you like Baratheon children?” Rickon asks back. He licks his lips slowly, scooting closer to her and wrapping his arms around her. “How many? I will name all of our children _Baratheon_ should you wish it.”

Blinking up at him, Shireen tries to sort through the thought. Acknowledging bastards was one thing, giving them a name was another, but naming them for an exiled woman's disgraced house? Rickon should have refused outright. Furrowing her brow, Shireen lets her confusion show, and the words of the wildling ring in her head. “Won't your wife be mad?” she asks.

Rickon quickly mirrors her confusion. “What wife?”

“The wilding woman you go to visit,” Shireen says, knowing that she'd now have to deal with that woman as well. “The one you speak of often… Osha.”

The laughter that escapes Rickon completely throws her. He shakes with it coming so fully, but he pulls her closer and burrows into her neck. “I have no wife,” Rickon says plainly. He moves away slightly, pressing his forehead against hers and looking her directly in the eyes. “Nor have I shared a bed with anyone but you, princess. I visit Osha because she is my mother.”

Shireen blinks at him, sorting through the information. “Your _mother_?”

“Not my lady mother,” Rickon says quickly, “but she took me to Skagos and taught me to fight and hunt and survive. Osha cared for me whenever I was injured or sick. She stopped me from making stupid decisions. She is my mother.”

Shireen feels her jaw drop at the new information. Rickon never had a lover. He hadn't taken any woman to bed but her. Shireen had the sole claim to him and his children, and he was welcoming it. She stares at him long enough that he kisses her again and again until she starts smiling.

“But you always go,” Shireen tells him, still unsure how to take the information.

“The Northmen do not like that I take counsel from a wildling woman,” Rickon tells her. He adjusts her to a more comfortable position, placing a hand over her stomach. “I won't act without her, though. I go to her with all my worries, and she spends most of the time teasing me, but she is helpful.”

Shireen swallows, placing her hand over his, realizing that there is nothing between them. “What do you ask her about?”

Rickon chuckles. "I asked her for help to get you to like me,” he says. “She nearly beat me to death when I told her I wanted to marry you because we'd already agreed not to, and that would have been an unjust use of my station. Osha yelled at me for days that I had to stay true to my word and I moped around the camp until I realized she was right. After all, you deserve my honesty, princess. That's why I took so long to return before. If Osha so much as caught me thinking about it, she'd send me off to do things for her until I learned better.”

Shireen wasn't sure why Rickon kept talking. She didn't even hear most of it. A single word kept ringing out in her mind, and she didn't bother stopping herself from blurting it out. “You want to marry me?”

Rickon's cheeks color lightly and he bites his lip when he looks back to her. “Aye, princess,” he says. “Though, I will keep my word to you. We shall not be wed on my whims.”

Stretching up, Shireen snakes her hands around his neck. She pulls him into a deep kiss, trapping him against her. Rickon doesn't mind, though, moving back against her and grabbing her leg to hook it over his hips. Shireen moans as she feels him so close, so obviously desiring her. Almost overcome with the physical ache, Shireen struggles to remember why she started kissing him in the first place. Pushing away a bit, Shireen holds tight to the thought. “You would wed me?”

Rickon huffs against her mouth, sliding his hands over her rear and dragging her closer. “I will give you anything you wish, princess,” he says. “Even if you must kill me.”

“Oh, never,” Shireen breathes out. She shifts her hips to take him in her, rolling into him, and he starts thrusting into her. Slowly, he moves her to her back, taking over all the work and pressing into her repeatedly. Rickon leans over her, moving a hand into her hair and kissing her soundly as he moves. Moans spill from her lips, and Shireen drags her nails over his back, eliciting soft sounds from him as well.

Wrapping his arms around her, Rickon pulls her up, sitting her over his lap. He still moves up into her in a clear, distinct rhythm, but he never breaks eye contact with her. Shireen is overcome with the feeling of him, the feeling of this intimacy, and she finds herself reaching her peak fairly soon. Rickon slows with her, allowing his hips to move erratically before he spills his seed within her and kisses her deeply.

With the care she has come to expect, Rickon sets her back into the pillows, curling up around her and tucking her into the blankets. He rests his hand over her stomach once more, settling there for the night. Though she feels as if she is buzzing from Rickon’s proclamation, Shireen finds that sleep is easier in his arms, and she dozes off quickly. Though she sleeps well, she wakes several times in the night, simply glancing over to see him before drifting off again.


	19. Chapter 19

In the early hours of the morning, Shireen wakes to Rickon's soft kisses over her face. He has opened a window just slightly, letting in the gentle spring breeze of the North. The sun has yet to rise, and Shireen yawns in the darkness. She feels Rickon chuckling against her before he kisses her forehead.

“If you do not wish to be found,” Rickon starts slowly, “you will need to return to your chambers soon, princess. Would you like me to carry you?”

Shireen blinks at him, turning into his chest and finding her favorite place to rest her head. “No,” she says. Sliding a hand over his ribs, Shireen hugs Rickon closer. “I quite like my place here.”

Rickon's arm wraps about her waist, his other going to stroke her hair. He kisses her forehead gently, and Shireen looks up to receive one on the lips. Rickon complies with a smile, deepening their kiss and dragging it out. Leaning against her head, Shireen thinks that Rickon means to sleep again, but he nudges her gently until he has her attention. Then, he gestures out the window. Looking up, Shireen watches as the sky bleeds with color. Soft pinks radiate out from the horizon until the sun rises, and Shireen sighs softly.

Settling back on Rickon’s chest, Shireen bites her lip gently. This is the longest she has ever spent with Rickon through the night, and she never wishes to leave. He seems content, though, leaning against her. Shireen tries to settle, convincing herself that he wants her here. Anxiety wells up inside her when a knock comes from the door, and Rickon seems to notice her tension. He kisses her forehead and strokes her hair gently before calling out, “Enter.”

“Your Grace,” a gentle feminine voice greets. Shireen can hear the clanking of dishes and silverware even though she doesn't turn to see the serving girl. She turns further into Rickon’s chest, realizing the girl has not yet left. “Shall I bring up another?”

“This will do,” Rickon responds. “Thank you.”

Shireen waits until she hears the door shut to move, finding Rickon smiling at her. She gives him a weak smile. “I suppose the whole castle knows now,” she mutters.

Rickon kisses her gently, holding her chin in his hand. “The whole castle has yet to wake,” he tells her. “But I can head off the rumors, if you’d like.”

“No,” Shireen says quickly. She knows that the only solution will liken her to a whore, and she cannot stand the thought when she carries Rickon's child in her belly. Distracting herself, Shireen brings his breakfast closer, piling food onto the fork and feeding him.

Rickon accepts the food from her, eating slowly. Shireen uses the time to sort through her thoughts and next plan of action. Quickly, she tries to find the best possible solution, but she knows that her heart won't stop pounding until she asks what's been nagging at her mind. The opportunity seems to evade her until Rickon is smoothing out her gown for the day, pressing kisses to her neck.

“Would you really marry me?” Shireen asks, waiting to hear the rejection.

“Of course,” Rickon says, as if it's the simplest matter in the world. He ties up her gown, finishing with a crude knot at her side. Moving before her, Rickon pulls on a tunic, tying up his breeches in the same manner.

Shireen pulls his tunic into place, smoothing out the fabric. “Not just because of the child, though,” Shireen clarifies. “Or the rumors... would you wed me for true?”

“Princess,” Rickon says, grabbing her hands. He pulls her to her feet, keeping her close. “I would make you my queen. I would _beg_ you to wed me so I can call you my wife.”

Her breath catches in her throat. Rickon's title and claim to the North would be hers should they marry, and she feels her whole life falling into place. It was the only position her father ever wanted for her, the title she willingly abandoned for her safety, the title she feared for the sake of Rickon's rule and his life. Now, she could have it again, thrive in it even, and no one could dare refute her claim with Rickon's child in her belly. Shireen licks her lips slowly, preparing herself to ask it of Rickon and step out into Winterfell as his betrothed once more.

“You need not beg, my lord,” she tells him. Swallowing hard, Shireen looks up to him and takes his hands. “I will marry you.”

Rickon lights up, and he leans down to kiss her quickly. “Now?” he asks, all eagerness.

Shireen laughs, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I believe you’d need a marriage cloak,” she tells him. “And, I, a maiden’s cloak.”

Rickon clears his throat gently. “I, um, had them made,” he says softly. “And a new gown for you, should you wish it.”

Pulling away, Shireen stares up at him. “How?” she asks. “How would it fit me?”

“I had Lyanna see to it,” he confesses sheepishly.

Shireen’s jaw drops, and she blinks a few times before she stares at the door. “She knew? You told her that—”

“That I wanted to give you a proper wedding, yes,” Rickon supplies. He pulls her back gently and kisses her cheek. “They are in your room if you’d like to see them.”

Without turning back to him, Shireen makes for the door. Surely, he is lying. How could he have possibly hid all of this from her with his frequent trips to the Gift? How did Lyanna manage to never tell her a word of it _and_ make everything when they have been spending more and more time together? Rushing down the corridor, Shireen shoves her door open. On the featherbed, laid out perfectly, are three new gowns and two cloaks: one with a stag, and one with a direwolf. Shireen slowly steps over to them and runs her fingers over them.

“I asked her to make the wolf Shaggydog and she stabbed me with her needle,” Rickon tells her. He stands in the doorway, watching as she feels the cloaks. “The gowns match the cloaks, though Lyanna insisted on a plain one for you to wear daily.”

Shireen lifts up the black and gold gown, tracing the edges with her fingers. She turns back to Rickon sharply. “You’re serious?”

He smiles at her, nodding as he says a phrase in the Old Tongue. Shireen repeats it back out of habit, watching Rickon’s smile grow wider. He says it again, and she repeats it. Even though she says it perfectly, he has yet to tell her its meaning. “What does that mean?” she asks.

“I only tell you when you say it correctly, princess,” he says. Slowly, he walks into the room. He pulls out the Stark cloak and flicks it over his shoulders.

“Am I not?” Shireen asks, snagging the Baratheon cloak. “We say it the same.”

Rickon shakes his head at her, reaching out to put her cloak in place. He takes her hand gently, pulling her to the door when she freezes. Rickon stops, giving her a confused look.

“Shouldn’t you tell Osha?” Shireen asks. “Wouldn’t she wish to see you wed?”

“I think she just wants me to stop talking about it,” Rickon tells her. He fixes her hair before standing back. “But we can ask her. She’s close.”

“She is?” Shireen asks.

Rickon nods, taking her hand again and pulling her through the keep. “She is in the maester’s chambers.”

Pulling Rickon back, Shireen stops again. “ _Your mother_ has been the maester’s chambers?” 

Shaking his head again, Rickon wraps an arm about her waist, pulling her forward. “Yes, princess,” he says. “She was ill and is recovering.”

Shireen is quiet for the rest of the walk, hiding behind Rickon’s shoulder as they near the room. He steps in without care, likely waking the sleeping wildling woman. Shireen sneaks a look in, seeing Osha in a completely new light. She mutters out something in the Old Tongue, and Rickon rolls his eyes. He replies in the same language. Shireen watches the exchange until Osha stares directly at her. With a smile, she says the same sentence from before—the one she has told her every time Shireen visited. Rickon says something back, seeming more eager to leave. There is a final quick exchange before Rickon leaves the room, taking Shireen with him.

They head straight to the godswood now. It is still early enough that no one in Winterfell is out of bed, and Shireen looks around at the quiet life of the castle. She glances back to see if anyone is looking out a window and stumbles slightly. Rickon catches her easily, sweeping her up into his arms. He carries her the rest of the way, and Shireen settles against his chest. She idly begins drawing out patterns on his tunic before she remembers that there is another thing she must tell him.

“Rickon?”

He hums at her, pressing on now that they have reached the entrance to the godswood. Rickon jostles her a bit to change his grip on her, letting the thin Baratheon cloak out of his hands to ensure that she doesn’t fall. 

Shireen looks up at him, and her heart pounds loudly in her ears. She stretches up to kiss his chin, holding onto his shoulder for balance. “I love you.”

Rickon stumbles. He takes a quick step to catch himself before lifting her into a safer part of his arms. He blinks down at her dumbly before he says, “What?”

“I love you, Rickon,” Shireen repeats, meeting his gaze.

Rickon eyes travel all over her face, perhaps looking for some sort of clue as to her honesty. He doesn’t seem to trust his ears, and he asks, “For true?”

Shireen smiles at him, lifting a hand into his hair. “Yes,” she replies. “I have been in love with you, I think, for moons now.”

He replies with a kiss, leaning back against a tree to pull her more firmly against his mouth. Shireen slips her arms around his neck, kissing him back. He slowly pulls away to say the sentence again in the Old Tongue. He repeats it multiple times as he kisses her, moving his hands to hug her as he keeps her up.

They slow to a stop as Shireen remembers the sentence. It was first he ever told her, the one she has said many times to try and discern the meaning of it, the one that sounds similar to whatever the wildling woman repeats at her every time. She stares up at Rickon as he smiles. Then, she tries again. “What does that mean?”

Rickon’s grin spreads, and he kisses her again until she pulls away. “I love you,” he says simply.

Shireen feels as if a shock has run through her body. If not because he is confessing his feelings for her, then because he has told her so since before he left to Barrowtown. Confusedly, Shireen mumbles the phrase out.

Nodding, Rickon leans down to kiss her again. “Yes, princess,” he says. “ _I love you._ ”

Everything clicks into place, and Shireen pushes him away. She stumbles down to her feet, trying to realize what everything means. “But… you taught me to say that before I knew what it meant.”

Rickon nods.

“Why?”

Slowly, he reaches out for her again. He smooths the cloak over her shoulders, looking her in the eyes. “I wanted to know what it sounded like from the lips of the woman I love,” he tells her. “I wanted to hear it, even if it wasn’t true.”

Shireen shakes her head slowly, watching Rickon curl in on himself slightly. She fills the space before he can close off completely, hugging him about the waist tightly. Pressing into him, Shireen kisses his neck, stretching to her toes and trying to get to his mouth. Weakly, his arms hold her in place. “Oh, Rickon,” she sighs. “It has been true since you taught me to say it. I have loved you since then, and I will continue to love you until I am placed at your side in the crypts.”

“Still?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” Shireen replies. She hugs him tight for another moment before stepping away. Grabbing his hands, she pulls him closer. “Now, I thought you meant to marry me.”

Rickon nods, falling into step at her side again. Shireen smiles up at him, reciting the sentence out for him in the Old Tongue. Grinning back, Rickon presses his nose into her hair. “I love you,” he tells her.

It isn’t until they’re standing before the Heart Tree that Shireen realizes there is no Baratheon to remove her cloak. Still, she turns to face Rickon directly and makes to remove it herself. He shakes his head gently, placing a hand over hers to stop her.

“Princess,” he starts slowly. “My lady, my Hand, my queen, my wife… I give you my protection exactly as you are. I will not ask you to deny your Baratheon blood, nor will I expect you to be called Stark. I only ask you to take me as your husband before the old gods, that we may be wed.”

Shireen smiles up at him. “Call me a Stark,” she tells him. “But call me your wife first.”

With a grin, Rickon removes his cloak before draping it over her shoulders, securing it over the Baratheon cloak. Then, he takes her face in his hands and kisses her deeply. Shireen steps into him, holding his waist and pressing into him. A low sound builds in the back of Rickon’s throat, and a loud howl fills the air. Rickon chuckles through the kiss, pecking her a few times before pulling her down with him. He sits her on his lap, moving the cloaks over them to keep warm as he settles against the Heart Tree.

“Will you tell me about our child?” he asks, finding her stomach with a hand.

“There is nothing that I know,” Shireen tells him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Only that it has quickened within me.”

“How long ago?” Rickon asks.

“Over three moons,” Shireen says.

Rickon furrows his brow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Shireen sighs. “I did not know. Not until I counted, and by then you were gone to Skagos.”

“I tried not to go,” Rickon murmurs. “I didn’t want to leave you, princess. Not when I asked Lyanna to finish quickly.”

Shireen giggles, looking up at him. “How long will you call me _princess_?”

Rickon smiles. “Until we have a daughter,” he says. “But even as my wife and queen, you will always be my Skagosi princess.”

“You will be king,” Shireen reminds him. Then, she laughs. “I promised Aegon that I would invite him to our wedding.”

“I expect my lords will want witnesses as well,” he relents. He kisses her briefly. “I will send word for another wedding and our coronation. Then, the Targaryen will stop vying for your hand.”

“He stopped when I asked,” Shireen reminds him. “Though, perhaps we can see if your sisters will return for it.”

Rickon grins. “Winterfell will be overrun with Starks.”

“As it should be,” Shireen responds, leaning into his chest. They sit together long enough that Shaggydog joins them. He rests his head over Shireen’s lap, and she strokes his snout gently as he presses his nose to her belly. Shireen glances over to Rickon, who is watching them with an amused smile. Shireen’s brow furrows, and she turns to Shaggydog sharply. “He knew.”

The soft chuckle of Rickon’s laugh reaches her ears and he kisses her cheek again. “Yes,” he tells her. “It’s why I left to the Gift in the first place. I meant to ask Osha what the loss of your moonblood meant, but there was no time. The war was already started, and the Skagosi needed me.”

With a soft nod, Shireen stretches up to kiss Rickon again. He smiles through the kiss, rubbing a hand gently over her stomach. 

The quiet of the godswood is broken a short time later with the loud crunching of snow. Shireen panics when she realizes that she is wearing Rickon’s cloak, but he holds her too firmly for her to even try to hide it. Rickon looks up expectantly, and Shireen is relieved to see Lyanna striding toward them.

“And how long do you expect me to keep your men out of here?” she asks, placing her hands on her hips and staring down at them. “Others pray here as well.”

“Of course, my lady,” Rickon says. He helps Shireen off his lap and stands. Offering her a hand, he pulls her to her feet.

Lyanna’s eyes never leave the cloak on Shireen’s shoulders, but she doesn’t speak a word about it. Rickon fixes up Shireen’s clothes and hair without sparing Lyanna another look. Shireen gasps lightly when he kisses her, and Lyanna clears her throat loudly.

“Lyanna,” Rickon calls, pulling away from Shireen. He slides an arm about her waist, and pulls her snug against his side. “Would you perhaps help write out announcements for my wedding and coronation?”

Rolling her eyes, Lyanna scoffs loudly. “I will not lie to the realm on _your_ behalf, Your Grace,” she proclaims. “I’ve already sewn more for you than I ever will again. Haven’t you a maester and castellan to do your bidding?”

Rickon laughs again, shaking his head. He leans down to Shireen’s ear and whispers, “I quite think Aegon will like her.”

Shireen scowls at Rickon. “None of that,” she tells him sharply. Slowly, she makes her way over to Lyanna’s side and takes her arm. “The invitation will be enough, I think. Now, don’t you have something to go write?”

“Are you just going to ignore your bedding?” Lyanna adds on. “This marriage is a farce without a child.”

Rickon smirks, and Shireen glares at him. His smile only grows wider as he strides over to them. Slowly, he leans down to give Shireen another kiss. Then, he starts walking off, calling back. “I think the one in her belly will do.”

Shireen’s mouth drops open staring after him. The gall he had to just admit that to Lyanna when she had been keeping it a secret for moons. Biting her tongue hard, Shireen turns to Lyanna, finding the Mormont woman looking smug.

“Do you want to tell me how that happened?” Lyanna asks.

“I think you know how it happened,” Shireen quips back, starting out of the godswood. “But I suppose you can ask your sister about the bear that fathered her children if you have any questions.”

With a huff, Lyanna drags her feet over to catch up to Shireen. “And you thought he didn’t care for you?” she questions. “I told you he likes you.”

Shireen follows at Lyanna’s side. More than anything, she watches Rickon’s retreating figure, knowing that he is about to loudly proclaim their marriage and heir to all of Winterfell. Maybe Lyanna never explicitly stated that Rickon cares for her, but Shireen was happy enough with this outcome. Now, without fail, Rickon will return to her every night, share his meals with her, and kiss her freely. Somehow, shifting everything to make it mundane was even more exciting than having him in secret. 

Smiling, Shireen releases Lyanna’s arm, rushing forward just as Rickon exits the godswood. She catches up to him just as he enters the practice yard, and she pulls his arm to turn him around. Before he can question her, she throws her arms around his neck and pulls him into a deep kiss. The tittering of a few onlookers barely makes it to her ears with how loud her heart is pounding, but she is immensely proud to have Rickon as hers. So with everyone to see, she will kiss her husband whenever and wherever she pleases.

When Rickon’s arms wrap around her and pull her closer, Shireen knows that her place will only ever be at his side.


End file.
